


The Sign of Magic

by Supernova12



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Bisexual John, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Kidlock, M/M, Potterlock, Romance, Slow Burn, Teenlock, Virgin Sherlock, kidlock has a lisp, muggle-born John, pure blood Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 16:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8292124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supernova12/pseuds/Supernova12
Summary: John and Sherlock first meet as kids in Diagon Alley when their siblings are accepted into Hogwarts. John, a muggleborn, is fascinated by the magical world and Sherlock, a pure blood, helps him find his way through it- even when he knows John probably won't have the magical gift himself... or will he?Will their friendship outlast the test of time, of growing up, the unprecedented twists of fate.. of maybe realizing it's something more?





	1. Age: 7

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Yes, I know it's a vague description. It's cause... I dont know how to NOT spoil it. Anyway... welcome to my 4th fic in the fandom, and 2nd potterlock! I've been wanting to write this for sometime and I finally finished drafting and started the actual writing!
> 
> Im not sure if I will have a regular update schedule cause.. work and stuff. But hopefully it wont take too long!  
> So far, according to my plan, it's looking to be finishing with around 70k words (It was SUPPOSED to be a 1k ficlet dammit!). My goal is to have it all up before Sherlock S4! Let's see how that goes...
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy! Please be nice to me! Aaaand.. yeah that's it :) Thanks for reading!

 

 

All his life, John Watson had been utterly ordinary. His parents. His sister. His day to day life.

Granted he was only 7, but John expected nothing more of life than he did from a Sunday afternoon at home.

Nothing at all.

But then something… something happened.

He had been sitting with his sister, Harry, staring blankly at the TV when the doorbell rang. He heard the usual scuffle from one of his disgruntled parents when interrupted from their work. Both parents worked from home and were usually extremely busy to deal with either of their children, hence the vacant stares of their children watching Television to alleviate their boredom.

His father had been the one to give in to the insisting buzzing of the front door bell. John had turned to watch him walk towards it, mumbling under his breath. He peered through the door of the living room and down the hall to the opening door where his father stood and promptly gasped. He blinked several times, making sure that he was seeing correctly. 

A woman was at the door. But not just any ordinary woman. She was wearing emerald green robes with golden stitching patterns that touched down onto the floor, draped by a long black cloak and wearing on top of her head a matching pointed hat. She looked… well… a bit weird to be frank.

Harry, stirred by John’s surprised reaction, moved her head lazily from the screen and peered above her younger brother’s blonde head, her mouth dropping open almost instantly and one of the chips she’s been mindlessly eating falling onto her lap.

 John’s father had stared at her for a moment “Um, hello? How can I help you?”

The woman took off the black pointed hat, revealing her greying hair pulled tightly into a bun at the back of her head. She had stuck her hand into her pocket and carefully pulled out a large off-white envelope with a red wax stamp on the seal. “Good afternoon Mr Watson. My name is Minerva McGonagall and I need to speak to Miss Harriet Watson, your wife and yourself. I have very important news to give you”.

 The following couple of hours had been possibly the strangest of any of their lives. There was a lot of talking on the McGonagall’s side, and a lot of confusion on the other. In the end, what was understood was that everything John had ever thought to be impossible was indeed… happening to his big sister.

The tumult of information on “The magical world” was overwhelming. And Harry listened to every word as their strange visitor informed her of this world where she now belonged, and a mysterious school called.. what was it called? Hot-darts? Hogs-warts? Either was John barely understood a word spoken as he stared at the surreal scene before him on his living-room. He listened and he watched nonetheless, face scrunched up in concentration as he watched his sister smile grow wider and wider and his parents’ expression grow from confusion to surprise and finally set into neutral indifference. As they always managed to.

John himself had been astounded, excited for his sister and a little disbelieving. He wondered how magic could be something real and tangible and how it was running in _his_ family of all families. The ordinary Watson… now had a witch in the family.

He had looked down at his hands in wonder and felt warmth flow through him at the thought that maybe he too could someday receive a mysterious visitor. Someone to show him he was not ordinary.

Hours later the woman had given Harry the letter and had nodded at the family before turning towards the door as Harry jumped up excitedly and the Watson parents left quietly into their own studios.

John watched the woman close the door and had felt a sudden rush of panic. He ran after her, needing to know if he too was special. If someday he would receive a letter just lie Harry’s and a promise of an escape to a magical land. The woman had smiled sympathetically but shook her head, “I’m afraid I don’t know, dear…Sometimes, sadly, only one sibling from muggle parents has the magical gift.”

John had looked at the floor in disappointment and nodded as the woman bade him goodbye. He had sighed sadly but gone back inside, a spark of hope still fluttering inside him and pride for his sister shining through his ocean blue eyes.

….

And now a week later, John found himself smack in the middle of the strangest place he had ever seen.

He wasn’t quite sure where to look.

Was it considered rude to stare at the woman across the street cooing at the large bat hanging from the dangling cords of her dress? Or was it even worse to stare at the man walking in front of him, who resembled nothing less than a giant with his massive stand and gargantuan hands? John peered at him discreetly; the man was holding in front of himself a large glass tub with a beach ball-sized.. egg? He wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but it looked soft and on the top of the tub, if John leant over, he could just make out the word “Acromantula”. What did that even mean? He shook his head, feeling very small and confused. Perhaps coming here with his sister Harry hadn’t been the best idea, “Diagon Alley”, she’d called it.

She kept babbling about materials she needed and John’s parents followed her lead, looking slightly disturbed but mostly completely indifferent to their surroundings, unlike John who was gaping at every passing store and every fascinating passerby. They’d only been here for a couple of hours but their parents were growing impatient. Harry took no notice and keep prattling about the books she needed before she could go hunting for a cauldron and a wand. ‘ _A_ _wand’_ , John marvelled. So they all headed into a store with a big green sign that read “Flourish and Bots”.

They walked into the store and a heavy scent of old and new books drifted through the air. While Margaret Watson checked her mobile and Jack waited by the cashier waiting to pay for whatever Harry picked out, John drifted away from Harry’s side, feeling curious as he caught some of the titles around him. He saw everything, from “Magical beasts and where to find them” to “Quidditch through the ages”. What even _was_ a “Quidditch”. John smiled, instantly wanting to know everything he could from this strange world lying just under everyone’s noses. He caressed the covers as he passed reading them as fast as he could.

He wasn’t tall enough to read the ones on the top shelves but he satisfied himself with being confused by the ones in the bottom. As he looked up, however, he couldn’t help but notice that some of the books were moving on their own accord. Lifting themselves out of the shelves and into different positions between books or down and onto people's awaiting hands. John stared at them in amazement, wondering how in some months his sister might be able to do that, and how amazing it would be if she could somehow… teach him to do it himself.

He grinned up at the books and tentatively raised a hand waiting to see if any book approached his extended fingers but no books vibrated with hesitation or temptation to his waiting hand and John snorted, knowing it wouldn’t work but amused at the fact that it was like the books themselves knew exactly what to do and where to go. He raised himself on his tiptoes and tried again.

“That’th not going to work, you know”, a soft voice said behind him, lisping his S’s as if only growing out of the habit recently.  

“Sorry?” John turned around, his long blond bangs swishing with the motion and stumbling out of his raised stance. His sights fell upon the owner of  the high voice, a small boy around his age with had dark brown hair that was completely untamed in messy curls that framed his pale face. The face itself was thin but he had two round cheeks that were rosy and soft and his lips resembled a tiny red rosebud that contrasted completely with the stark grey blue of his eyes.

“The bookth won’t come to you. It’s a thimple thpell.” The boy motioned towards said floating objects with a nod of his head and a small hand. “It doethn’t work just raithing a hand to them. You need to uthe magic. Not that you could anyway, you’re far too young to be heading to Hogthwarth.” He smirked at John’s confused expression.

“You know how to use spells?” John marvelled. “And… wands and everything?” his eyes widened in amazement.

The boy in front of him snorted “Of courthe not don’t be thilly! I’m clearly around the thame age as you if not the exact thame. People under the age of theventeen can’t uthe magic outside of thchool everyone knowth that”

John bit his lip and nodded slowly, feeling a little out of place. He didn’t know that. He wasn’t even sure if the wands made the magic or the wizards and witches did. He was sure the boy in front of him knew exactly what Quidditch was and suddenly, he felt utterly lost.

He saw the boy look at him closely, eyes shifting and taking everything in before exclaiming “Oh! You’re muggle born!”

“Muglerwhat?” John said, confused. That was definitely not what he had been expecting to hear.

“Ah. Yeth. I thee.” He looked John up and down, placing his tiny pale hands under his chin in a mock praying position. “Your parents are not wizards. You're only about 7 and they left you here own your own, clearly, they are either afraid of what they’re seeing in the magical world or they thimply don’t care much. By the look of the length of your hair, I’d say you previous haircut was well over 6 months ago so I’m gonna go with the latter- they don’t pay much attention to either of you. You’re astounded by the everything here and clearly, you’re not of age to be accepted into hogthwarth… your older thibling was accepted. Rather recently too judging by your still unbelieving face at the magical world. Did I get anything wrong?” He smirked at John again his dark curls bouncing as he raised his head and straightened his back to appear taller.

John stared at him for a moment, mouth hanging open in complete shock. The dark haired boy’s smile instantly disappeared “Oh uh..” his neck hunched in a wince as if expecting John to hit him or reproach him.

“That was amazing!” John suddenly exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear “How did you know all that?” his eyes widened. “Was that” John looked around as if someone might be eavesdropping on their conversation “Magic? Are you doing magic without permission?” he whispered.

The boy stood straight again, his smile returning “Of courthe not!” he scoffed “I thimply obtherved. Something people often forget to.” He sniffed and pouted his lips slightly before he turned to John again, unsure “You didn’t…. think it wath weird?”

“You could see all that just by yourself? Without any powers?! It wasn’t weird! It was amazing!” John exclaimed excitedly, his eyes shining with admiration for the shorter boy with the curly raven hair.

The boy’s rosy cheeks darkened into a fierce red and he quickly looked down and mumbled a “thankth” clearly he wasn’t very used to receiving compliments. John’s smile grew wider, feeling an unexplainable fondness for the smaller boy. “I’m John, by the way. John Watson” he extended his hand, as he’d seen his father do when meeting new people.

“Sherlock. Sherlock Holmeth” Sherlock shook his hand tentatively. John’s heart lurched at Sherlock’s inconsistent lisp. The thought that he’d just met someone with magical knowledge didn’t seem so scary anymore, it seemed like the complete opposite. The curiosity to ask Sherlock about everything he didn’t know about the magical world suddenly gnawed at him.

“So… you aren’t… what did you call it? Mugler born?” he asked.

“Muggleborn? No. Both my parents have magic. Ath does my horrid big brother”. He waved a hand dismissively as if that was the most natural thing in the world, to be born with a sibling and parents that were not just aware but part of the magical world. Who understood everything from the customs to the mechanics of magic and could actually perform spells and could use wands as everyday objects. John couldn’t even think of a place to start on questions he had for Sherlock.

“You have questionth” Sherlock raised a brow looking at him, his high soft voice slightly tinged with easy amusement.

“Some, yeah” John shrugged shyly. “Would that be.. okay?”

Sherlock just smiled, chubby cheeks glowing a rosy pink.

…

 John’s parents were easily convinced for him to go by himself with the new boy he’d found around the streets of Diagon Alley. Sherlock said his own parents had agreed to meet him at nightfall in a store called “Olivander’s” with his older brother. They spent hours browsing through shops and Sherlock explaining everything they saw and John gawked curiously at.

So far John’s favourite shops had been “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes”, where he’d seen what he believed to be a miniature dragon making the popcorn they sold, and “Quality Quidditch Supplies”. In the latter, Sherlock had rambled about Quidditch as soon as John brought it up, hands moving frantically as he explained the rules and the different balls and brooms and teams. John instantly wanted to play it, impossible as it seemed.

They ran into the woman with the bat again, and she let John pet it. He was so astounded by this new world he had suddenly been invited to see. A part of him still felt like he’s outside looking in, but the fact that Sherlock, this strange new boy he barely knew had stepped out to help him...it meant a lot.

Close to nightfall, Sherlock took them to a candy store, the building looked brand new, much brighter than any other in its surroundings. Its sign wasn’t quite as name catching as the others, it just read “Angelo’s”. They walked in, Sherlock leading as he had most of the day and John following. The shorter boy stopped in front of the counter and raised himself on his tiptoes to catch the attention of the man behind it, who was currently looking for something in the back.

“Angelo?” Sherlock called, trying his best to look over the counter but so far nothing but his world unruly curls popped out. Angelo turned around and catching sight of them grinned widely.

“Sherlock! So nice to see you again! What brings you here?” his jolly voice boomed out.

The man, Angelo, let go of the box of sweets he had been holding but to John’s surprise, held it up again by pointing a wand at it and with a flick of his wrist sent it flying neatly into a small space in the shelves between two identical boxes.

“Mycroft ith buying hith thingth for school.” Sherlock shrugged.

“You boys, growin’ up so fast! Next thing I know you’ll be walking in here with a wand of your own.”

Sherlock smiled proudly.

“Oh! Who’s this?” Angelo turned to John, smiling kindly.

“John. My…”

“Friend” John smiled.

Sherlock’s head turned sharply towards him, a startled look on his face. His cheeks coloured a little as he smiled tentatively, looking back at Angelo who was beaming at them. “Yeth… my friend.”

John beamed back, feeling warm and safe and suddenly not so long in this place full of dragons and wands and magic.

….

They walked back into the streets of Diagon Alley with pockets full of the candy Sherlock had pointed out Angelo. And before John could reach into his pockets Angelo had stopped him with a firm head shake. “On the house! Anything for The Holmes’s family and their friends”.

John reached into the large box of… jelly beans? And took one out before popping it into his mouth. “No, wait!” Sherlock exclaimed just as John started chewing.

“EUGH!” he spat out the jelly bean into the ground spluttering and shaking his head fervently. “What WAS that?” he exclaimed, peering at the back of the jelly bean box in the darkness.

“Never trutht a yellow floured bean, John. Everyone knowth that”

John snorted “Well, clearly not _everyone_!”

Sherlock’s step stuttered “Oh.. I’m-uh... I keep forgetting. Thorry” he looked up at John, grimacing as if expecting John to reproach him or be angry.

John smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry, I know you don’t mean to”. Weirdly enough, the thought that someone as smart as Sherlock forgot John wasn’t someone who didn’t belong in his world was… nice in a way. It made John feel as if he wasn’t being watched as the outsider, but simply as another young wizard... waiting for that letter.

 

…

At nightfall, they went back to the store. The company of this new boy seeming so natural. So familiar, it was kind of bizarre to think they’d only met earlier that afternoon.

John had always been surrounded by many friends, finding social interactions an easy give and take he was familiar with. Plus, it drowned out the quiet of the nothingness at home. However, he’d never been one for actual... conversations? His friends at school only seemed interested in playing hide and seek and shooting at each other with their toy guns and usually, John was more than happy to oblige. But he’d spent all day talking and listening to Sherlock, learning about this new place and it’s rules and wonders and had found himself nothing but utterly captivated.

Sherlock himself was incredibly surprised by how easily he had taken to this new boy. How he had not immediately wanted him to leave him alone. Or how he hadn’t been tired and annoyed by his questions about magic and Hogwarts. John had allowed him to talk, to explain and to even slip in an experiment of his or two into their conversation. John…. Listened. He actually seemed to care? Sherlock found it hard not to stare at the boy in wonder and wonder if maybe this is what it felt to finally have a friend.

“So you're telling me… Acromantulas are.. spiders?” John asked, eyes wide with shock. Sherlock lost his train of thought, thoughtful frown turning into an amused smirk.

“Yeth, up to 5 meters large. They can eat people, too!” Sherlock grinned as if this was one of the most fascinating facts in the world and not the most horrifying thing John had ever heard.

“So wait wait.. you’re saying. I saw a man carrying the egg of a man-eating spider today!?” John cried, throwing his arms up in exclamation and attracting a couple of shocked stares from the witches and wizards passing by them in the dimly lit streets of Diagon Alley.

Sherlock just laughed “Of courthe!” and kept walking merrily. John’s eyebrows rose, still concerned but after a couple of seconds just snickered and followed Sherlock. “What IM wondering” Sherlock suddenly said, as John caught up with him “is what on earth are these.. video games?” he turned to look at John seeming completely perplexed. John grinned.

They headed back to “Olivander’s” still discussing game consoles and different kinds of games John played.  The fact that Sherlock was just as new to his world as John was here was oddly... comforting. As they walked into the store they suddenly heard a woman’s voice call out to them.

“Sherlock! Darling, we’ve been waiting for you! Where have you been?”

The smaller boy sighed heavily and called back “I was just exploring, mummy”

The woman finally came into view, rushing towards them. She was very tall and slender, with kind green eyes and the same curls Sherlock had falling onto her thin shoulders. “Come, sweetheart, Mycroft had finally finished with his shopping and- Oh”. She suddenly stopped short, spotting John. “Hello,” she smiled, sending a curious and surprised look to the smaller boy next to him.

 “Hi,” John smiled shyly “I’m uh- John.”

“I'm Sherlock’s mother, Elizabeth. But you can call me Eliza.” She smiled again, more surely this time. She extended a slender hand and shook John’s warmly. “How-?”

“I took John around Diagon Alley to look at the shopth and explain magic.” Sherlock shrugged, straightening himself to try to make himself appear taller. “John’th a muggle born, older magical thibling”

“Oh! How wonderful!” Eliza cried happily, finally reaching Sherlock and embracing him tightly. “Sherlock’s brother Mycroft also has his first year at Hogwarts! Our little Sherlock was so jealous he-”

“Mummy!” Sherlock cried indignantly, his cheeks heating a fiery red instantly.

“Sorry,” Eliza giggled, covering her mouth with a delicate hand “I’m just not used to- nevermind” she smiled at John once more “Anyhow… where are your parents John? I’d love to meet them!”

John’s gaze fell a little bit, thinking about how cold his own parents were towards the whole situation… and how cold they were towards any other situation ever. “Oh… they’re…around I’m sure” he tried to give his most convincing smile. As if understanding immediately Sherlock’s mum straightened up, finally letting go of Sherlock who looked tremendously relieved as he gasped a little for air and her smile fell a bit into a concerned expression.

“Well… I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you came over to our place this summer for a visit. We could show you some more of the magical world” she said, determination taking over the tone of her voice.

Sherlock’s frown disappeared and he looked over at John as if expecting him to scoff and decline but John’s smile had returned and as his eyes met Sherlock’s the smaller boy could see a sparkle of hope in the deep blue irises. Sherlock looked him up and down, forcing himself to observe more from John’s stance and appearance. Clearly, the mention of his parents, along with his already given deduction about John’ long hair when summed up to John’s small clothes that he had clearly outgrown a while ago strongly suggested that John was unhappy in his family life. He didn’t know why but even when he barely knew the boy in front of him the sudden need to protect him from whatever kept that big smile off his face was undeniable and strong.

“Yeth.” Sherlock agreed. “You should come over for the last week before you have to go back to muggle school” he smiled at John as the latter answered him with a surprised but delighted grin that for some reason made Sherlock’s insides feel warmer.

“Really?!” John beamed.  “That’d be so great! Let me just… find my mum to ask. She’s probably around the counter checking her messages” with one parting grin John ran outside to find his mother.

After John left, Sherlock’s mother immediately turned to Sherlock “A whole week? That’s so sweet of you darling!” she stooped down and kissed his chubby cheek soundly “I’m so glad you’ve made a friend. That boy looks like he could use some love” She hugged her son tightly to her as Sherlock frowned a little into her chest ‘ _A friend_?’ he thought. Well, he HAD just asked John to spend a week with him and he barely knew him! However… he just couldn’t find it in himself to be regretful. Even after seeing Sherlock’s deduction abilities John hadn’t made fun of him, or called him names, or even acted offended! All things Sherlock was used to receiving as reactions to his observatory abilities. John had been kind and… fun. He was different. He seemed like Sherlock’s perfect choice for a friend. The first one he’d ever had.

Sherlock smiled and burrowed into his mother’s embrace. Perhaps coming with Mycroft had been the best idea.


	2. Age 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter-- Next will be the last kidlock. Then the teenlock shenanigans begin <3!

 

John spent the rest of that summer at Sherlock’s place.

And the entirety of the one after that.

And the one he was currently in.

As expected John’s parents had let him go without a second thought, barely lifting their gazes from their phones to nod and make an approving sort of hum at John’s request. Soon after, Harry had left for Hogwarts and returned with many tales and descriptions, most of the things she said, however, were things John already knew as he spent that first summer asking everything he could think of to Sherlock and his mother. He had barely seen Sherlock’s father around, it seemed he travelled for work quite a lot and whenever he was there he never seemed to be in a good mood at all. Sherlock shrugged when John asked about this, however. He said it was nothing out of the ordinary but John caught the depth of Sherlock’s indifference as a sign that it was a sore topic he shouldn’t bring up again.

Now, in his third summer spent at the Holmes’s house, John was sitting below a giant willow tree in the middle of their garden beside Sherlock. He could feel the rough bumps of the bark pressing into the soft material of his shirt and the occasional stray curl from Sherlock’s head brushing into his cheek with the soft breeze.

He smiled. Thinking about how familiar this all seemed now, 2 years later. He closed his eyes, listening to Sherlock murmur something about an experiment next to him and thought about that very first summer

….

As John had first walked into the Holmes’ place that first time he had been absolutely dumbstruck. Sherlock lived in a gorgeous house that although from outside it looked like a simple cosy cottage once they stepped into it, John carrying nought but a small bag, it had looked like he had walked into a massive and shiny mansion. The furniture was still cosy but in its entirety, the place looked chique and modern. John was struck by its gorgeous decorations, very art nouveau with its swirling organic plant-like forms in the wooden furniture and swirling staircase and chandeliers.  

But what took his attention completely were the objects that seemed to be moving on their own accord as the books had been back at the store; the plates rinsing themselves in the kitchen, a dustpan lightly floating over the arm rest in the coiled marble staircase sweeping delicately, the chandelier candles lighting themselves up as they walked through the door and… were the portraits in the house moving?? John stared at one of Sherlock next to a red haired boy he supposed would be Mycroft and… yes. Sherlock seemed to be pouting and rolling his eyes in the picture as Mycroft tried as best as he could to look like he wasn’t noticing, a slight twitch of annoyance giving him away every now and then.

John had walked in and stood gaping around at everything around him, Sherlock just smiled.

 

The first summer John spent learning everything he could about the magical world and Sherlock spent it learning everything he didn’t know about the muggle world. It seemed like the first week was a series of incessant questions going from “What’s this?” to “Why do muggles/wizards use this?”, both of them tripping over each other to know more about their opposite worlds. Sherlock had taught him about Quidditch and even let him borrow one of his many brooms, not that they could even fly them as neither of them had had any signs that they were magic. But they pretended just fine. They threw the bludgers around and did their best to catch an old snitch Sherlock’s mother owned from when she played Quidditch in school.

Eliza Holmes treated John as if he was one of her own children, taking to cutting his hair herself after Sherlock had attempted to do so (with _remarkably_ disastrous effects). She had sat him down and even made an effort not to laugh as she repaired all the bald spots and uneven cuts Sherlock had done while said boy sulked in the background and John giggled in delight. John’s clothes had also miraculously grown to his own size overnight, something he was sure Eliza did while he was sleeping so he would be more comfortable in them.

….

Right now, at age 9, John didn’t really expect himself to be a wizard. After two years of spending summers with Sherlock and still not having magic, he knew the chances of _both_ himself and his sister being the magic exceptions in his family was very low. But he was happy to spend time with Sherlock, someone who unlike his sister didn’t act superior because they knew about the magical world. Sherlock had grown up with it and to him, it was second nature to explain how the world worked. “Someday” he would always say “I’m going to get that letter. And I’ll go to Hogwarts” (after 2 years they had finally learnt the proper name for the school and Sherlock had outgrown his lisp).

He showed John everything from his books on magical creatures (Who knew dragons actually existed?) to his extensive collection of magical candy (chasing a chocolate frog across the Holmes’ humongous lawn was definitely not as fun as it sounded… except in retrospect… it was).

John, in turn, taught Sherlock some muggle customs and games. Sherlock had been completely fascinated when John told him about pirates. He’d showed him a couple of his own picture books and a few movies and at first, Sherlock had scoffed, but John knew he’d been entranced by them. Especially since the entirety of their second summer had been spent pretending they were pirates. Eliza Holmes magicked two mattresses they used as boats to float around, not too high as if they were in water while both boys threw pillows at each other until one surrendered or fell off.

Time, these summers, had been spent talking, playing Quidditch, pirates, and helping out Sherlock with crazy theories and experiments in his backyard. John’s first impression of Sherlock had been that he was a boy with definite personal boundaries and a highly superior intelligence and although the latter held up John soon discovered Sherlock had very small personal boundaries, finding it completely natural to use John as an armrest, chin rest and whole body rest when he fell into his spontaneous sulks where he thought everything was dull. John didn’t even react anymore when Sherlock just fell into his side in despair for something interesting to happen.

All in all, everything seems to be right with the world….

  _This_ particular summer day John was sitting down under the biggest oak tree he could find in Sherlock’s backyard, browsing through one of Sherlock’s many books on Quidditch tips and history. Even if he knew chances were he could never fly a broom himself the game itself seemed endlessly fascinating to him. Sherlock was lying down in the grass next to him, muttering to himself every now and then about something that suspiciously sounded like “drought of the living death” but John knew better than to ask, lest he wanted to find himself trying to replicate the same potion even when he and Sherlock couldn’t find the exact ingredient and could not use magic. Sherlock was a big believer in finding a way or a loophole even in magical potions. 3 of John’s destroyed jumpers were clear evidence of how far he would go to prove this. John snorted lightly but kept reading.

 “I’m bored John!” Sherlock suddenly whined.

“Mhmm” John hummed back, unfazed by Sherlock’s exaggerated agony.

“I’ve deemed at least 10 potions undoable without magic in the last 2 minutes and I just cannot stand this… being _un-magical_ any longer!”

“You’ll get your magic. You just need to wait” John murmured, still not looking up from his book but reaching out to pet some of Sherlock’s curls lightly.

Sherlock was silent for approximately 3 seconds before he growled in annoyance. “Ughhhh Joooohn!”

“Sherlock. Even if you got magic right this second you do realise you wouldn’t be able to control it until you got your wand right?” John shook his head minutely, sighing as he turned to another page in his book.

“I KNOW but… ughhhhh”

John shut his book, smiling fondly. “Fine. Let’s do something else. Something to distract that brain” he turned to Sherlock. “Quidditch? Movies?” he paused, turning to grin at Sherlock “Pirates?”

Sherlock sighed but definitely looked more cheerful, “If we must. But then we’ll at least try to recreate the drought of the living dead”

John laughed, “Naturally”.

…..

 

It happens out of the blue for John.

A few weeks later, well into the summer, they were playing in the gardens. One moment they were playing Quidditch… well “playing”, and the next, everything changed.

They were pretty much just holding their brooms over their heads and trying to swat their snitch like a fly onto the ground, jumping around. They were laughing maniacally, taking turns between taking swings at the flying golden ball and each other’s brooms as if they were swords. Sherlock swung too hard and knocked John’s broom right out of his grasp just as the Snitch was hit and swivelled down a few inches with a triumphant “Aha!”.

 In an instant, with some unknown instinct, John reached up for the snitch, jumping as high as he could. His hand rose up and in a moment of glory, his fingers curled around the snitch, the cold metal of the gold searing through his warmth.

He landed on the ground, expecting Sherlock to joke about how he cheated and didn’t swat it down, but when he turned to look at him grinning Sherlock was just staring at him, gaping. John looked around himself, not knowing what the younger boy was looking so shocked about.

“Um… Sherlock?” he asked.

“ _John_?” he asked in return, just as confusedly, his tone stunned. “You… that thing you just did… you”

John just looked more perplexed, taking a few steps forwards to make sure Sherlock was alright.

“John you just… you just jumped like 3 meters into the air. Like it was nothing… you just” with every word Sherlock’s face changed from shock to delight, his grin growing and growing until it lit up his entire face, his chubby cheeks reaching up to his eyes. He started laughing, his face scrunching up in happiness.

“I.. _what_?” John stopped in his tracks, his heart thumping loudly, his ears roaring. Had he just jumped 3 meters into the air? But that was impossible! Completely impossible! How could anyone possibly

…. Oh… OH!

“Oh… my… God” John face split into a grin, his hand unclenching from his tight grip around the struggling Snitch. It rolled from his palm and fluttered delicately around John, and into the air above them. Both boys too distracted in grinning to notice it drift into the air, and above.

 

…..

 

“Make it _warmer!_ ” Sherlock whined, kicking his feet under the sleeping bag.

“I can't just _make_ it warmer Sherlock!” John cried for what felt like the billionth time. “You do realise I've had magic for all of 3 days and I can’t control it!”

“Jooohn! I’m cold!” Sherlock said dramatically.

“Well then why did you want to camp without a tent? As I recall you said the cold wouldn’t be a problem!”

“Well, it wasn’t MY idea to camp in the middle of NOWHERE!”

“We are literally in your backyard,” John giggled.

Sherlock huffed “Well… shut up”

John laughed, nudging Sherlock with his elbow gently. Sherlock elbowed back huffing out his own begrudging laugh. Going camping had been Sherlock’s idea after John had described a couple of his camping trips with his grandparents and his sister. Mycroft had helped them build a small fire and they’d roasted smores, which Sherlock adored instantly, and dared each other to finish an entire packet of Bertie Bots every flavoured beans. In the end, John had only almost thrown up twice and Sherlock once. A true success.

Afterwards, they had settled on their sleeping bag (two zipped together to make a single one to keep body heat). Now, hours later they turned to look up at the stars, the lack of tent providing them with a truly spectacular view. Truth be told Sherlock did have his house in literally the middle of nowhere. John had never seen stars like this in his entire life, and judging by the awestruck look on Sherlock’s face he hadn’t made much of an effort to look at them before now.

“John?” Sherlock whispered

“Yeah?”

“I still can’t… it's just. You. Magic” Sherlock grinned, the same look he had gotten after he and John had stopped jumping around and screaming with excitement after John’s first sign of magic. “You’ll come to Hogwarts with me” his smile softened.

John beamed back “I am. I can’t believe it either… it’s so impossible”

Sherlock shook his head “It’s entirely possible, John. It’s going to be… amazing. Imagine our firs day at Hogwarts! Getting sorted into houses… I bet you’re a Gryffindor. I'll be a Ravenclaw, obviously. And soon enough we’ll be proper wizards.” He turned to look back at the stars, his face filled with delight.

“Yeah... proper wizards” John sighed, his insides warm.

Sherlock felt John’s hand squeeze his own reassuringly. The silence around them grew into a comfortable hum, undisturbed by nought but the shine of the stars. The excitement of their future to come buzzed, Sherlock thought about how now he wouldn’t have to part ways from John. They could go to school together. Him and John. His friend. His only friend. He closed his eyes, feeling sleep blur around the corners of his vision.

Any day now his future could, too, be secured in Hogwarts.

Any day now he would get magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaay! John has magic I bet NO ONE saw that coming! haha So everything will be just perfect!
> 
>  
> 
> ...right?


	3. Age 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took FAR longer than I thought it would. To be completely honest.. life got in the way and I received my very first mean comment in a fic (not this one) and ughhhh I underestimated how horrible it would feel. I shook it off and deleted the comment but damn. People can just be real mean. 
> 
> Anyway... I do want to warn people that this chapter is a tad angsty-- there's an instance of a not-good relationship (NOT between Sherlock and John, obviously)- so if that's triggering please go ahead with caution. Again I promise NOTHING less than a super happy ending :)!
> 
> So yeah-- little bit of everything in this chapter- ranging from angst to fluff etc etc.... In other words John and Sherlock age 10 <3<3

 

Summer began pretty much as any other summer John was used to nowadays. Sherlock and Elizabeth (“ _Eliza_ John, how many times have I reminded you, dear” she’d smiled)  picked John up from his place and Sherlock wasted no time in relating how dull the rest of the year had been without John. John empathised completely.

As soon as they arrived at Sherlock’s place hours later, the smell of Eliza’s chocolate chip cookies filled John up from the instant they walked in, and he was home.

…

Sherlock had grown up a bit since last time John saw him, he still was around half a head shorter than him (much to Sherlock’s annoyance) but quite a bit of the baby fat had decreased from his cheeks. And his hair, although still stuck up in all directions, no longer bounced from his chubby cheeks and formed a halo around his head. It had now started sticking up around his ears, making wing-like curls surrounding his forehead. It looked adorable. Not that John would admit to it.

He was currently pacing around John frantically, hands steepled under his chin in a classic Sherlock pose, fingers slightly longer than John remembered but still quite small. They were in the centre of the garden, surrounded by the vast array of colourful flowers Eliza tended with love and care and the trees they often lazed beneath.

“So, I haven’t displayed signs of magic yet,” Sherlock said suddenly. “But, I have come to the conclusion that strong emotional bursts could be the necessary means to trigger it. If my hypothesis is correct all we need to do is cause a surge of adrenaline on my system and finally... boom” he stopped his frantic pacing and turned to John, grinning and spreading his arms as wide as he could. “I’ll have magic”.

John grinned right back, excitement bursting in his belly “Sounds like a plausible theory.” He stood up in front of Sherlock, steeling himself for whatever crazy experiments Sherlock was willing to try. “Where do we start?”

Sherlock reached into his robes and drew out a long list.

…

They started with scaring Sherlock at random times a day. Equipped with 5 full boxes of ‘Weasley’s’ “Demon dung crackers” John set to set these off at random times a day when Sherlock least expected it. He _did_ manage to make Sherlock jump, yelp or even fall backwards and topple off a chair in one occasion but alas, no magic burst out of him. 

On one memorable occasion, Sherlock had been in the middle of explaining a complex experiment to do with the different kinds of soil he had collected when John set one off too close. Sherlock in a panic had jumped onto John which had started him and set another one off. One of the locks on Sherlock’s hair had instantly caught on fire and doing the first thing he could think of John had pushed him onto the lake in panic.

Sherlock hadn’t been too amused after that.

This, combined with the awful smells they emit caused Mycroft to ban them from the house and Eliza to demand they each take at least 3 baths each before dinner.

Dinner, in turn, gave Sherlock another brilliant idea.

Spicy foods.

They gathered all the spicy ingredients they could find from Eliza’s cupboard as well as the potion ingredients she kept hidden under the kitchen sink and behind some pots and bowls. “Are you sure these are safe to eat Sherlock?” John had asked bemusedly, reading the labels with slight concern.

“Absolutely John. They're just potion ingredients… Oh no, not that one! Maybe.. maybe just this one. And this one. And.. I'm sure a _little_ of this one won't have any severe long _-_ term effects. Okay. Let’s go.” He stood up, arms full of ingredients and weird looking jars with questionable things in them. John was sure one of them moved.

He just gaped for a moment before making a mental note to slip that last one into his jacket pocket before Sherlock could do anything rash and followed.

They both tried samples of each ingredient. Sherlock determined to see if John had any magical bursts with the increased stimuli of the spice. John coughed out a tiny ball of fire when presented with some of the potion ingredients, and smoke fizzled out from his ears and into the air.

And Sherlock _definitely_ had a voracious and vocal reaction to the spices. But aside the increased tripping and falling over on his way to the kitchen for a large drink of milk… nothing happened. Sherlock seemed a little concerned but John just smiled reassuringly.

They had time.

….

Weeks passed by them. They tried everything, from blindfolding him and jumping onto the deepest edge of the murky waters of the lake to running out in one of the coldest nights in only shorts to see if the shock of the temperature change made something in Sherlock react. But aside from a nasty cold and several disapproving looks from Mycroft, they got almost nowhere.

Sherlock refused to stop trying. As soon as one experiment proved fruitless he would just scribble out the option on his list and move on to the next. But as the days passed the list became shorter and shorter. John determination to have Sherlock’s magic spark was if anything, becoming more rapacious.

However, as logical as Sherlock’s plan had seemed at first John couldn’t help but find himself doubting the science of it. Especially today.

“Right. So John. For this next experiment, I’ll need to jump off the highest point of the tree house.”

“Uh… Sherlock. I don’t think-“

“John.” Sherlock turned to look at him, silently pleading and determined.

John frowned. “Fine. But we’re taking safety measures. I won't have you breaking an arm or worse.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but John just shook his head “Nope. Come on”. The dragged out the biggest mattress they could find, one they usually used for their pirate games and placed in below the tree house. John then surrounded it with as many falling leaves as he could, just in case Sherlock rolled off. They climbed to the highest point, Sherlock’s heart beating loudly against his ribs.

He looked down onto the ground and the mattress John had set out for him. “Right” he breathed in. He looked down, gulping. John stood beside him, clutching the branch of a massive tree where the house had been built on. “Are you sure about this Sherlock? You… don’t seem too sure”

“I’m fine.” The shorter boy murmured softly. He looked down again, feeling his palms become sweaty and his spine shiver with chills. “I’m... I’m fine.” His breath sped up as he took a step forward towards the edge of the roof. His mouth becoming drier with every passing beat of his racing heart.

“Sherlock” John pleaded with him. “I don’t think you should…”

“You need to push me, John.” Sherlock interrupted him. “If I jump… maybe my body won't react properly. I need you to push me off.”

John’s eyes widened “No. No, I won't do that.”

“You MUST John. I need this. I need you to do this for me. Please” he sounded agonised.

John took a step forward reaching out for Sherlock. “No. come on. We’ll find something else. Another experiment for you. This... this is too dangerous Sherlock.”

“NO” Sherlock snapped, taking a step back as John reached closer and closer, taking tentative steps against the mossy surface of the wooden roof.

John caught him by the wrist in a tight secure grip, he pulled Sherlock towards him, hanging on to a nearby branch for leverage. Sherlock shook his head, his eyes glassy, curls flying in all directions as he stumbled back and slipped on some wet leaves under his trainers. John’s grip on the branch broke loose as SHerlokc’s weight pulled him off the roof of the house and they both fell back onto the ground.

“JOHN!” Sherlock screamed. John somehow managed to secure his hold on Sherlock to pull his body above his own as they fell, falling back-first onto the mattress with Sherlock secured against his chest. The fall was both longer and shorter than expected, the searing jolt in both of their stomachs at the adrenalin rush and the fear of falling off scorching. The shock of the landing pushed against John’s back, but fortunately, the material of the mattress was soft enough that they sunk into its thick material with a soft bounce. Not that it didn’t hurt quite a bit.

John groaned, his shoulders sore from the pull when Sherlock fell and his back aching where it had hit the mattress first. “Sher- you okay?” He asked, his breath still coming back to him.

Sherlock didn’t answer at first, which made John sit upright and pull his friend’s almost limp body up. “Sherlock?” he asked, voice much more panicked now.

“I'm fine..” Sherlock sighed, his voice soft and small.

“Are you hurt?” John demanded. He instantly pulled back, inspecting every part he could see from his friend's body. He didn’t _seem_ too harmed if anything Sherlock just seemed… upset.

 “No,” Sherlock answered curtly. He sat up on the edge of the mattress facing away from John.

“Alright...” John said uncertainly. Then.. are you.. okay?”

John heard Sherlock take a deep breath. “No.” he whispered. John waiting for him to explain. “It..it didn’t work John.”

John shifted closer to Sherlock, his stomach feeling a completely different kind of heavy. Like he was falling all over again.

Sherlock gulped quietly “If a child doesn’t show signs of magic by the tenth year of age chances are they…”. He paused, his breath intake shaky and unsteady “What if.. I don't… What if I’m not…” he stopped, his head falling heavy face first into his hands, hiding his expression from John.

In the years John had known Sherlock he had never seen him so unsure.. looking so small and afraid. The urge to comfort... what’s more.. to PROTECT rushed fiercely to John’s heart.

“Don’t,” he said fiercely. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. We are going to figure this out, Sherlock.” He sat next to him, pulling his hands away from his face and finding that pair of remarkable icy green-blue eyes wet and surrounded by red rims. “We are going to figure this out,” John repeated, promising him ferociously. His blue eyes shining with determination.

Sherlock just stared back and tried to believe him. 

….

They had stayed laying on the mattress for long hours, Sherlock’s ragged panicked breaths eventually slowed down until he had fallen asleep under the midday breeze and the shade of the treehouse he and John played in every summer.

John had grown hungry after a while. He gently moved Sherlock from where he had fallen asleep, mostly on top of his chest with John’s hand against his forehead reassuringly. He got up as quietly and as gently as he could and walked into the house towards the kitchen.

The closer he came, the more he realised he could hear voices. Growing louder and louder. He recognised them as Eliza and Sherlock’s father, Sherigford.

John hadn’t seen much of Sherringford since he’d known the Holmes’s family. He was always away on trips and neither Sherlock nor Mycroft talked much about him. And John didn’t dare ask anything about him judging by the cold atmosphere that took over whenever he was around.

John stopped to listen, feeling suddenly trapped and unable to move. He wanted to leave… but curiosity took the better of him. It seemed like they were in the middle of an argument, Eliza’s voice came now and then but the prominent one was Sheringford, angrily whispering and hissing. He took a couple of steps forwards trying to make out whatever he was saying.

He heard Sherlock’s name thrown in now and he leant closer. “He’s a freak Elizabeth! An incompetent freak! That is no boy of mine! If I had known that all you would give me is a useless _squib_ then I wouldn't have dared settle!” his words became harsher and angrier. John felt something ugly and hot stir inside of him. Words directed at such a kindhearted wonderful woman, who basically raised both boys on her own. Who opened up her arms to John into her life even when she owed him nothing. And to say that about Sherlock… he who was anything BUT incompetent. Who wanted magic above all else in all this world. How dare he speak about his own son like that? About either of them like that?

 Hearing this man speaking with such hatred, and unkind words made something in him snap.

He walked into the kitchen, almost vibrating with anger. The sound of his footsteps didn’t even register in Sherirignford’s mind as he kept his hissing. Eliza was backed against the kitchen counters, eyes wide and afraid as her husband leant over her. Her breath was coming along in gasps and her fists were clenched as if fighting off the anger John could see in the back of her teary gaze. John kept staring at the scene before him, his vision going red, the blurry and suddenly- 

CRASH

One of the flower pots exploded behind Sherringford, causing him to startle and jump away from Eliza who’s head snapped in alarm at the sound. The flowers inside fell, some onto the ground and some onto the sink, covering everything in roots, petals, and soil. Sherringford snapped his head towards the door, spotting John for the first time. He glared, first at John and then at Eliza, finally standing up straight before walking out of the kitchen, shoving John unceremoniously out of the way. John stumbled, but glared right back at him, not backing down.

“John!” Eliza cried. She rushed to his side “I’m so sorry! You absolutely did not have to see that... I can't believe- I”

“No! Eliza… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have.. I don’t know what came over me”

Eliza looked at him concernedly... almost ashamed. “I don’t… I know that he … it's just…”

John shook his head; she didn’t have to explain anything to him. The last thing she needed was someone else that told her what to do. Instead, John just threw his arms around her waist and hugged her, pressing his face into the soft material of her jumper at her shoulder, where his head barely reached.

“I’m sorry John” she whispered

“You have nothing to be sorry for… nothing. You don’t deserve this. Neither of you do”.

“I know… I just... He means well, he’s just… temperamental. And… I just can’t leave him. I can’t… What would happen to us?” her voice was a whisper, and John knew the question wasn’t directed at him, so he didn’t answer. Instead, he just held on to her as her breaths calmed slowly. Eventually, she pulled back taking a deep breath and smiling that familiar smile that made John feel much more loved and welcome in a house even in where he had no family ties.

She sniffed, wiping her eyes quickly and raising herself to her usual height. “So dear, are you boys hungry? I made lunch a while ago but I’m sure it’s still warm.”

“We’re okay… thank you. Sherlock’s asleep”

“Oh thank goodness. Merlin knows that boy hardly sleeps.” She started putting some biscuits and sandwiches on a tray together, knowing by know that John was always hungry, even when he denied it. She sniffled again, avoiding his eyes.

“You don’t think he…” John couldn’t finish the question. Evidently, Eliza knew exactly what he was referring to as she winced slightly. John immediately regretted his half-asked question, but he couldn’t help asking it. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Sherlock but… what if he couldn’t help him? What if there was nothing to do?

“I don’t know John…” Eliza finally whispered. “But whatever happens to Sherlock. Whoever he turns out to be… we’ll always be here for him.”

John nodded, the stone in his gut feeling heavier but the fierce need to protect Sherlock burning in his heart “I promise” he said. He meant it, bone deep. But the thought.. even the notion of going to Hogwarts and leaving Sherlock behind threatened to shatter John’s heart into a million pieces.

….

Sheringford left on another business trip a few days later, much to John’s relief. He could feel the atmosphere in the house lighten up completely when the pressure of the man’s shadow wasn’t eclipsing the summer sun. His gaze was no longer stuck to Sherlock, in expectation of greatness, of a sudden surge of magical ability. And Sherlock, although still anxious, was no longer cowed to a corner in shame.

The experiments in emotional outbursts stopped, much to John’s both relief and disappointment. He had expected Sherlock’s mood to be all over the place, one second irritated and the next sulking. But he just seemed… off. For the past few days, they’d done little more than sit quietly together, reading books from the Holmes’s extensive collection on every subject imaginable. Since meeting John Eliza had made a point of purchasing plenty of Muggle-published books too, that Sherlock if anything found even more fascinating. He was currently flipping through a book about Apiology and bee-keeping, his back against their usual tree.

Eliza was out of the house so she had left Mycroft in charge. He sat beside them, working on his homework for the holidays, glancing at them once in a while as if they would suddenly burst into flames.

John, meanwhile, had left his books aside in favour of sticking leaves and flowers into Sherlock’s fluffy hair. He stared at his friend, anguish that had been churning in his stomach for weeks now pressing against his lungs and thundering in his heart. He knew Sherlock was only acting indifferent to protect himself. He could feel the sadness and the worry emanating from him from miles away.

Lilac flowers adorned Sherlock’s hair now, one falling once in a while when John pressed into a curl nearby with another bloom or a leaf, but his friend took no notice. John smiled sadly, feeling a rush of fondness for his friend. Eliza was right. Whatever happened… he’d be there for him. No matter what. John sighed, “I’m gonna go get some tea.” He announced, knowing neither Holmes brother would answer but preferring to be polite nonetheless.

In an impulsive burst of emotion, he leant down and placed a tender kiss on his best friend’s temple, silently sealing his promise to keep him safe and happy and stand by him. He felt a soft curl press down onto Sherlock’s temple against his lips and he softly pulled away before standing and heading to the kitchen.

Sherlock froze, his book fell on his lap and rolled onto the floor with a loud thunk. He stared at John’s retreating figure onto the house, heart thundering in his chest. He felt his neck and cheeks flood with hot heat and his eyes widen. He knew he probably looked absolutely ridiculous; eyes wide and mouth parted in complete shock and complete confusion.

Mycroft had stopped reading. Sherlock didn’t know if it was because every sound had faded into the background into white noise and he too had noticed or if he’d finally shut up from his muttering about his potions homework.

“Sherlock,” he said. It sounded far away. The roaring still taking over Sherlock’s senses.

Sherlock didn’t answer.

“Sherlock” louder this time

Some part of Sherlock’s mind recognised his brother’s voice and couldn’t feel anything but severely annoyed with him. Because… Had John just… what was that? Why was his heart hammering against his ribs? Why was he so suddenly nervous and why did he suddenly feel so warm? So so warm inside and-

“SHERLOCK!”

“WHAT?!” Sherlock finally snapped, but his voice cracked, still uncomprehending of this warmth that had bloomed inside of him at the touch of John. His mind, still revolving around this confusion and the tingling feeling on his scalp where his lips had touched. He begrudgingly turned to stare at his brother, trying to calm his expression and composure into one of pure annoyance and frustration.

Mycroft had both eyebrows raised and was staring at Sherlock in part shock but…almost.. was that amusement? Delight?

 “Baby brother…” Mycroft grinned. “You’re levitating”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAAAAAAAAAY <3<3!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> Next chapter will be the LAST kidlock-- summer of age 11. And then teenlock will FINALLY BEGIN!
> 
> Thank you for reading, leaving kudos and all that shenanigans <3!! I hope you have a lovely week and hopefully next chapter wont take as long <3<3


	4. Age 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe I let a month go by. My apologies. Wont happen again. Anyway.. last kidlock!!!

 

The last summer before they entered Hogwarts was one that would remain present in John’s mind for the rest of his life.

It all started one Sunday morning, surrounded by Eliza Holmes’s marvellous pancakes, omelettes and an array of breakfast biscuits laid on the table. Sherringford was to be out for most of the summer and Mycroft had taken up an internship at the ministry for the summer, so it was just the three of them.  

Currently, Sherlock was prattling on about all the magical instances he’d had since he and John had seen each other the summer before, balancing between talking, stuffing food in his face and not choking. The details as to how exactly Sherlock attained his first burst of magic was still unclear in John’s understanding but he guessed it didn’t really matter that much. Not when he and Sherlock would be going to Hogwarts together. At last. In just a few more months.

A rattling sound coming from the window startled Sherlock mid-sentence and he finally did choke on the piece of pancake he was currently half-chewing. John slapped him on the back, whilst rolling his eyes good-naturedly as Eliza stood up to open the window.

An owl was perched on the windowsill looking puffed up and superior. Two letters were held tightly in his small brown beak, a red wax seal holding a familiar symbol in the centre of the top one could be seen. It ruffled its feathers before dropping the letters.

Sherlock stretched over to see what it was, and as soon as he caught sight of the red mark he flew out of his chair, almost dropping it and falling over himself in the process. John just sat there, heart thumping almost painfully in his chest, nerves tingling all over his body. He remembered seeing that red seal in an envelope held by his sister all those years ago.

“Sherl! Be careful hon- you’re going to hurt yourself!” Eliza cried as Sherlock sprinted across the kitchen and towards the sealed envelopes.

“JOHN!” Sherlock called out, completely forgetting the fact that his friend was right behind him and ignoring his mother’s comment. He ripped open one of the letters as John stood up on shaky legs, feeling as if every second was going by too slowly… or too fast. He wasn’t sure which.

Sherlock tore the letter out of the envelope as John finally reached the pair, Eliza with both hands pressed together against her grin and glassy, beaming eyes and Sherlock still in the process of yanking the letter out from the envelope. Finally, he managed to get it out and basically pressed his nose against it with how closely he started reading it. John reached for his own envelope, turning it front and back… just to… just to make sure. And there… there it was.

 

Mr John Hamish Watson.

Holmes’s Estate, First Floor, Kitchen

12 Ramsbury, Marlborough, UK

His name. Sherlock’s address… this was definitely _his_.

“ _Obviously_ ” Sherlock would have said. But… it _was_ his. There was no mistake. Whatever was inside this letter was addressed to him. And _him_ only. With trembling, excited fingers he turned it over again and broke the wax seal as carefully as he could and finally… pulled out the sheets of paper within the wrapping.  

 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall

Dear Mr Watson,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. Seems like magic does sometimes pick more than one sibling, Mr. Watson.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

There were more pages beneath, detailing the uniform and a long list of materials and books but John just stared at that front page. At his name. The acceptance. The signature. That name… Minerva McGonagall... wasn’t that the woman that had come to speak to his sister all those years ago? It had to be.. that last sentence. She remembered him! He grinned. His cheeks hurt with how wide he grinned. He just couldn’t stop. And when he raised his eyes and met Sherlock, he found an equally astounded… amazed… and completely bewitched expression on his face.

The loud screams of joy and exhilaration scared McGonagall’s owl away.

…..

Day 10 before Hogwarts

Back again.

John looked around himself and found peace in the now familiar streets of Diagon Alley. Except now he wasn’t here to accompany his sister. He wasn’t here as an outsider, looking in and wondering how it felt to be on the inside. He was here as one of them. He looked around himself again, just basking in the sight of the shops, the witches and wizards walking in and out, cloaks fluttering around their ankles as they went about their day, oblivious to John’s bursting heart, the excitement swirling high in his stomach. All this wonder around him. All this magic.

And Sherlock.

Sherlock was buzzing with energy, dragging John by the sleeve from store to store to buy the materials on their lists and to explore the ones that had opened in the year they hadn’t been around.

Angelo bought them their customary ice creams, knowing their preferred flavour by now after all these years and hot summer evenings and ice cream flavour testing. But today they didn’t walk in with their arms full of candy and things bought from “Weasley’s wizard wheezes” as usual, they came with bags full of books and potion ingredients, their eyes alight and grins stretching so hard it must’ve hurt.

Eliza stayed behind speaking amicably with Angelo as Sherlock and John went out to explore some more for anything else they might need. They passed by the entrance to Nocturnal Alley, John having to hold Sherlock back by the end of his robes to hold him back from sprinting right into it. As much as John was curious, the wizards and witches lurking in the shadows of Nocturnal Alley weren’t people he really wanted to interact with just now.

They were just walking past Eeylops Owl Emporium, when John stopped, gazing at one of the owls within the shop with wide eyes. It was a white and gold barn owl, with a small pointy beak and two marble black eyes, staring at him intently. It turned its head, curiously as John did the same.

 “You should get it,” said Sherlock.

John turned to look at him “Wha-? No. No, I can't.”

“Why?”

“My parents wouldn’t approve of me having an owl” John shook his head. “Or maybe they wouldn’t care…. No. I don’t know”.

“It’s not like it’d be flying around the house, John,” Sherlock said. “You can let it out. And when it’s night time it’d have a cage to sleep in”

John bit his lip, still staring at the owl. “I don’t… I don’t know.” 

“Then how will you write me letters?” Sherlock challenged. 

“I’ll use your owl! That what we’ve done in the past!”

“Yes. But I always have to write first for you to respond. And what if it's an emergency?”

“An emergency, eh?” John laughed. “I… maybe. I don’t know”

Sherlock rolled his eyes good-naturedly and started walking into the shop. “No! Sherlock! …… Wait!”.

He ran inside the shop with him and after another few minutes of Sherlock making very good arguments and the shop owner nodding enthusiastically to each and every one of them John walked out of the store and into the rapidly darkening streets of Diagon Alley with the Owl perched on a pearly white cage.

 “I cannot believe you convinced me to buy him.”

“It's only logical, John. Besides. You wanted him the moment you saw him” he nodded towards the small bird, who was currently inspecting the outside of the shop and his surroundings with avid curiosity.

“True… I still don’t know what to name him.”

“Gladstone.”

“You just came up with that? Just now?”

 “Might’ve read the name somewhere around. Must’ve deleted it. But yes, it looks like a ‘Gladstone’”

 John hummed, turning to gaze lovingly at his new pet, who immediately turned to stare back at him, appraisingly. “Gladstone,” he tested out the name. The owl turned his head curiously. “Gladstone”, John repeated. The owl hooted softly, fluttering its wings as if in approval. John smiled. “He likes it.”

“Of course he does John, it's his name”

John laughed. “Right. ‘course it is.”

 

……

 

The moment John had been waiting for what felt like an eternity had arrived. Maybe not THE moment but certainly one of the top ones.

He stood in front of the store, encouraged that Sherlock’s presence just a foot away from him and feeling his familiar warmth radiate into his side. They stared at the entrance of the small dark brown shop much longer than necessary before the chill of the approaching night sunk into their robes. Gladstone hooted his displeasure at the cool air’s chill.

 “Okay… okay” John murmured soothingly. He took a couple of steps forward before turning back to Sherlock who was still frozen in place, hands trembling by his sides.

“You alright, Sherlock?” John asked uncertainly. 

“Yeah… m’fine. You… you go first”

“…Alright.” John took a deep breath and opened the door. The bell above chimed and a voice resounded from the back of the store

“Welcome to the newly renovated Ollivander’s! Let’s find you a wand!”

 …

“Well, I must say it’s pretty much what I expected. 11 inches, dragon heartstring, dogwood.” Sherlock said, admiring his wand at the dinner table. He twirled it around his fingers a couple of time, feigning disinterest. But John could see the excitement and the joy shining in his eyes from the other side of the table, and when he caught Eliza’s smile he could tell she saw it too. 

“That’s wonderful Sherl! How about you John? What kind of wand do you have?”

“12 inches, unicorn tail hair, Ash” he grinned. “I didn’t know what to expect but…” he picked up his wand. “It’s perfect.”

 It had been a strange feeling receiving his wand. The elderly man that owned the shop (Ollivander, John presumed) had taken a single look at him and rummaged through one of the top shelves behind his desk before handing him the caramel coloured wand. It had intricate patterns at the handle and a dent that was made as if by design to John’s hand. Well, the size was a tiny bit larger but he could tell that with the passing of the years his thumb would mould perfectly. 

“Oh, my boys” Eliza teared up. “Finally going to school! With wands and everything!” she sniffled. “I miss you both already”.

“Mummy,” Sherlock smiled “It’s fine. We still have a few of weeks left of summer.”

John nodded “And we’ll write. Often. Right, Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock smiled, a warmth blooming in the centre of his chest at the ‘we’ of the statement. “Yes. We will”.

 

…

**Day 8 before Hogwarts**

 

 

Sherlock’s room looked like it had been through a war. Every surface was covered in school materials, clothes and books. Two suitcases lay on the side of his humongous bed both open and filled almost to the brink and Sherlock and John were stuffing a pile of books into one of them.

“Sherlock. You can’t take all of these” John panted. “They’re not going to fit”.

“You’re just not pushing hard enough!” Sherlock gasped, pushing the books harder against his clothes.

“You’re going to break something” John snorted, standing up from the bed and looking around the room. “Wow. We made a mess”.

Sherlock desisted from his grunting whilst putting all of his weight into forcing books into his suitcase and fell back onto the pillows. “We’re gonna need a bigger case”, he muttered. 

John laughed “True. Nice reference, by the way. And you said you wouldn’t like muggle movies and they were a waste of time”. He laid down beside him, both of them staring at the ceiling. 

Sherlock smiled. “Well, some are definitely more entertaining than others. What’s not to love about a man-eating shark? James Bond, on the other hand…” 

“Don’t you dare!” John cried, raising himself on his elbows and staring down at Sherlock. 

Sherlock snickered, raising his arms to protect himself as John flung a pillow at him.

After the mandatory pillow-fight followed they laid back down onto the pillows and stared at the ceiling. They breathed in silence for a few seconds, echoes of their laughter still beating in their chests.

A few moments later Sherlock finally broke the comfortable silence. “Will we still do this? When we.. when we get to Hogwarts?”

“What have pillow fights? Or _mutually_ agree that James Bond movies are the greatest movies ever made?” John laughed

Sherlock didn’t smile back. He bit his lip as if unwilling to ask whatever was dying to escape his lips.

“Sherlock?” John prompted

“This.” He said again “Be… friendly… with each other” 

John snorted “Be friendly? _Friendly_?” he looked completely flabbergasted “Sherlock. We’ve literally spent the last 5 summers of our lives together. We know each other inside and out. I think it’s fine to say we’re more than just _friendly_.” He smiled down at Sherlock who still had uncertainty shimmering in his grey-blue eyes. “Come on. Sit up” John said. 

Sherlock sat up carefully against the pillows, waiting for John to elaborate.

“Look. Is it... other people that you’re worried about? Me finding new friends and somehow against all odds deciding we shouldn’t be friends anymore?”

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, regretting having asked after hearing how silly it all sounded worded by his best friend. But he couldn’t help the twinge of worry that nudged inside his chest. He nodded.

“Sherlock…” John started, his face scrunched up in worry. “That could not possibly happen. We’ve managed to remain best friends just seeing each other once a year. And exchanging letters. There’s no way… _no_ way that I could possibly find someone that I liked more. Or preferred as a friend. You…” he paused seeming to be on the way of choking himself up with the sheer amount of emotions rising up inside of him. “You’re the best person I’ve ever met. Without you… I don’t know who I’d be.”

 He leant closer to Sherlock cupping his face with both hands as to avoid him looking anywhere else but directly into John’s eyes. “You are not something temporary to me Sherlock. We are best friends. And we will be best friends forever. You’re amazing. Stop doubting it”.

At last, Sherlock gave the beginnings of a smile, his cheeks growing hot.

There it was again. That feeling. What was it? The same as the shimmering of energy one year ago under the tree in the backyard. The rush of heat pushing against his heart and forcing it to pump harder, to make itself heard. A melody… Crying out to be heard from the surface of his chest and his heart beating frantically to follow its rhythm. Electricity. Rushing from his chest to his toes and back up. And warmth. So much warmth crawling to his stomach and up his throat into his cheeks. What was that? He had no name for this. No recognition. He looked into John’s eyes with confusion, hoping to find the answers there but found echoing questions. Two hearts beating in time but not knowing the song.

John opened his mouth again. Perhaps to ask, to understand why Sherlock was looking at him in bemusement, in bewilderment. He leant closer in his search, their noses inches apart. But before he could get out any words- 

The door to Sherlock’s room opened.

 John’s hands fell from cupping Sherlock’s face as if burned. Sudden embarrassment gripped Sherlock tightly by the chest without knowing the reason. A harsh intake of breath echoed through the room.

 “What. The. HELL. Is going on here?”  Sherringford deadpanned. Both boys turned to look at him, feeling exposed and vulnerable. John had only seen Sherlock’s father looking like that this time last year when he’d seen him yell at Eliza.

 “Nothing. We’re just… packing. Sir” Sherlock answered, his voice trembling.

 “You!” he pointed at John. “Care to tell me what the hell you were doing?” he took several strides until he was inches away from John, rage simmering in his eyes. 

“I don’t know what you mean, sir” John’s composure was calm. Eerily so. As if awaiting the moment Sherringford would strike to strike right back. His back was perfectly straight, his hands still and unclenched.

You could almost see the disgust vibrating off of Sherlock’s father in waves. The shock and the fury in the strain of his neck and the crumbling self-control in the snarl of his lips. He took John by the shirt in one single sudden snatch. “You LITTLE-“

“Sherringford!” Eliza cried. “Let go of him!” 

In surprise at the outburst, Sherringford let his hold on John go. John, in turn, fell back onto the pillows with a loud oo _mph_.  Eliza looked shocked herself. She took her husband by the arm and tried to pull him towards her. “Darling. Please…”

 He glared one last time at John, but when he turned to look at Sherlock his look darkened. Sherlock was completely pressed back against the wall, chest heaving and gaze frightened, set entirely on John. 

 At last, Sherringford turned towards Eliza and stormed out of the room. Eliza looked at both boys in worry and apology before following him out of the room. The door closed behind them with a soft click.

Even from the floor above, you could hear the shouting that followed.

…

 

**6 days before Hogwarts**

 

The fighting continued. John wasn’t sure if he was more surprised that it kept going or that he could hear Eliza was fighting back with fervour, an anger in her that he’d never heard before or that Sherlock insisted on not knowing or hearing any word they said. Whenever they came in range of hearing the shouts he would get up and come up with a new game or an experiment he assured they absolutely needed to do before they went to Hogwarts.

  John would hastily comply, not willing to delve back into whatever had happened that night. It was a little murky in his mind. The hurt, the followed comfort and then Sherringford’s interruption, his anger. Anger at what? Sherlock? John didn’t understand. Had it been wrong to comfort Sherlock? Somehow… bad? But, why?

 

….

 

**4 days before Hogwarts**

Sherringford left on yet another business trip. The shouting had at last stopped. At first, John had been relieved, thinking that everything would sink back into their usual summer rhythm. But somehow… everything felt so much worse.

 The quiet in the house was deafening. Sherlock tried his best to pretend not to notice it. But John could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes. He had seen something. Deduced something. Something he’d rather not know. And in a way, John saw it too. The red rims under Eliza’s eyes speaking volumes and volumes for themselves.

 Sherlock immersed himself into refining his knowledge of all the first year lesson books they’d bought and joined the quiet negation of the darkness surrounding the Holmes house. John sat by him, finding shapes in the clouds and wondering if these 5 days could go any faster.

 

…

 

 That night at dinner the three of them sat quietly, slowing chewing on the sandwiches Eliza made for them. Her hands were twitching against her glass nervously, her teeth biting her lower lip, her breaths short and panicked.

The clock on the wall ticked slowly, every tick resounding into the room as if it was void of anyone.

Eliza let out a shuddering breath.

 

Tick tick tick

 

She scratched at the wood on the table.

 

Tick tick

 

She closed her eyes tightly.

 

Tick

 

Sherlock slammed his hands against the table loudly. “Enough! What’s going on?” he shouted. His face had turned angry, something had finally snapped. John saw the pain in his clenched hands, his anxiousness. But enough was enough. It couldn’t go unspoken anymore. Whatever it was they had to know. They had to.

Eliza immediately hid her face in her hands, a soft sob escaping her throat.

Sherlock’s face changed immediately, from anger to shock and finally concern. He jumped out of his seat and rushed to his mother’s side. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry” he hugged her tightly to himself, only prompting more sobs to escape from his mother. She hid her face on his chest.

 “Mummy…. What’s going on?” he whispered, pleading.

 She shook her head slowly, unwilling. She gasped out a couple of breaths trying to compose herself. “Oh, Sherlock… my darling… I-”

 “Please tell me… how can I help? What happened?”

John watched them, heart pounding and a sinking feeling in his chest. He couldn’t breathe. This had something to do with Sherlock’s father, he was sure. Whatever it was wasn’t good. But why wouldn’t she tell Sherlock? How did it involve him? John wasn’t so sure he wanted to know.

 “Sherlock…” she whispered

He backed away to let her speak but kept his hands resting on her shoulders reassuringly. “What is it, mummy? Please tell me” 

“Your father” she choked out. “Your father… has decided…” she sniffled, “He has decided that it is time for him to transfer to France. For… for us to…” she finally looked up to meet his eyes. “To move… away.”

 John dropped his glass. It shattered against the hardwood floors with a thundering crash, splinters of glass exploding in all directions but no one flinched. No one even took notice.

“Wh- _what_?” Sherlock whispered, his voice cracking. He removed his hands from his mother’s shoulders, his eyes widening in shock. “I….no….. _no”_

Eliza was sobbing into her hands again, her shoulders shaking with every gasped tremulous breath. “I’m… I’m so sorry my darling. I couldn’t… I couldn’t convince him otherwise.”

 “But…” Sherlock whispered brokenly. “What about Hogwarts?”

She looked up at him sadly, mutely shook her head slowly before bowing her head in defeat once more.

John couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

“I’m so sorry Sherlock” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Sherlock blinked, his eyes glassy. His breathing became ragged, his eyes filling with tears. He turned abruptly, leaving the kitchen in a sprint before anyone could say anything else. John could hear his steps thundering rapidly up the stairs, the hints of a quiet sob muffled through the walls.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be.

John stayed glued to his chair. Every nerve in his body begged him to go after Sherlock. To say… something, anything. But he couldn’t move. “Eliza… I… How?”

She shook her head again. “I don’t know, John. I wish there was another way”

“There is another way!” John suddenly exclaimed. “You don’t have to stay with him! He treats you... he treats _all_ of you so horribly! Why… why do you stay?” tears had begun to flow down his cheeks too.

 “He’ll change John. He’s just... stressed about work. The move will make it better. He promised. And…I have nowhere else to go. I love him.”

John opened his mouth to plead for her to understand that this was in no way, love. Love wasn’t having someone force to move your family away for no reason after knowing how much his son longed to go to a school that had finally accepted him. Love was not to hurt your family, to make them feel less and afraid. He tried to speak. To somehow let her know that he loved them so much more than Sherringford ever could.  That he’d help them somehow. That the thought of not seeing Sherlock and her every summer was so physically painful he could not deal with it. That they were both such wonderful people and did not deserve to have such pain and abuse in their lives. But the words wouldn’t come out.  

He said the only thing he could think of. “But Sherlock... Hogwarts. Can’t you… apparate or something with him? I can’t.. not without…”

“It’s against the law to apparate with children under the age of 16, John. I’m afraid… there’s nothing to do now” she said sadly.

Now John was able to stand up. He took the space Sherlock had run away from and wrapped his arms around Eliza, hugging her tightly. He knew it was not his place to tell her what to do. He knew that he couldn’t even begin to understand what had really happened. He knew he couldn’t help her. But comfort. Comfort, he could do.

A little while later he climbed up the steps slowly in search for Sherlock. His eyes were still stinging with tears but he forced himself to be brave for his friend. Unsurprisingly, the door was closed. John tried to open it but it was locked too. He knocked. Only silence followed.

John sighed, a sob threatening to claw its way out of his throat as he pressed his forehead against the wood of the door with a soft thump. He could hear soft whimpers coming from inside of the room and the urge to break down the door and surround Sherlock in a hug was overwhelming. But Sherlock needed space. Even from him. Maybe especially from him.

He sunk onto the floor and pressed his back against the wood. Waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys. Worst Christmas gift ever. I know. Im so sorry. This is why it took so long. I just. did. not. want. to. write. that. Gah. 
> 
> Unfortunately... this is was important to the story. But it does not end here for John and Sherlock. This was just the beginning. (Yes, I know that doesnt make it better right now. I HATE MYSELF TOO DONT WORRY)


	5. 5 years later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TEENLOCK!!!!
> 
> This is a short-ish chapter-- intro to teenlock, kinda <3<3 I already started the next one so I HOPE itll be up in about a week!! Next chapter will be like twice the size of this one i think<3<3

5 years later John hopped down from the train onto the ground, the badge on his robes glinting slightly as it caught the last remnants of sunlight from the day. He grinned, looking around at his surroundings as people passed him by. It was his sixth year here… in his home. He breathed in the cooling dusk air as started walking in the direction of the crowd. Greg stepped down beside him, looking equally as relieved to be back.

As prefects they didn’t ride the train with the others, having to stay for a meeting with the rest of the prefects in a separate cubicle before every school year. But at least they were together. He finally spotted a familiar tinge of light brown hair scooped up into a ponytail walking almost at the very front of the crowd. “There she is!” he cried, he fastened his pace towards her, Greg trailing closely behind. 

“Molly!” he called out, just as Greg sprinted towards her.

She stopped in her tracks and turned around with a big grin on her faces at the sound of his voice. “John!” Molly cried “Greg!”. Greg proceeded to engulf her in a massive hug “There you are! I was looking for you two! Greg…. Greg…. I can’t breathe” she choked out, smiling despite herself.

“Oh bollocks, sorry!” Greg let go of her and John took his place for his hug. Greg just joined and hugged them both. Molly laughed.

It was good to be back.

….

 

Once they arrived at the castle and entered the Great Hall they took their usual seats at the far end of the Gryffindor table.

“I missed this,” John sighed as he took a seat, already eagerly waiting for the banquet to being and taste every single dish on the table. He looked longingly at the empty silver plates before them.

“What? You've missed the food? Or us?” Molly laughed

“Both!” John said “But... the food mostly” he shrugged.

“I knew it!” Greg muttered, shoving him teasingly with his arm.

The sorting ceremony progressed as it did each year.  The sorting hat sang a song and the very frightened pack of first years began shuffling one by one to the very centre of the stage-like platform to try on the hat and test their luck with the houses.

Soon the hall was filled with the cries of the hat “Gryffindor! Ravenclaw! Hufflepuff! Slytherin!” and applause coming from each table.

John smiled, remembering his own sorting ceremony, vividly.

 

….

**5 years earlier**

 

 John walked with the crowd of kids surrounding him, all wearing black robes down to their ankles and anxious expressions on their faces. John was so afraid. More than he could remember being in a long time. He was alone. No Sherlock to be a comforting presence beside him. No Sherlock to walk down and through those massive wooden gates with. No Sherlock to remind him that he was a part of this world too. Somehow. Miraculously.

He certainly didn’t feel like that now.

He pulled his brand new robe around himself, feeling cold and small. He looked down at his feet and kept on walking with the rest of the kids, crossing the massive hallway to the front of the great hall. He was so busy looking down that he didn’t notice the boy in front of him had stopped walking and walked right into him, almost toppling both of them over.

“OH! Christ! I’m so sorry!” John cried. 

“No! No.. its fine” the boy answered. He was also looking down at his feet, not meeting John’s eyes. His arms were trembling slightly at his sides, _nervous then…_ thought John.

“You… okay?” John asked

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine” the boy said. “Just… anxious, I guess” he shrugged.

 John nodded, understanding completely. Though, knowing he wasn't the only one certainly made him feel a little better, safer. “I’m John, by the way” he smiled “What’s your name?”

“Gregory” he paused “Well… Greg.”

John grinned “Come on then, Greg. We don’t want to get left behind”

 Greg nodded, looking a little more at ease now. He walked alongside John until they reached the stage. Names started being called in and then they started sitting down at their enthusiastic tables.

“What house do you think you’ll be in?” Greg whispered just as Phillip Anderson was sorted into Slytherin.

“I don’t know” John whispered back, nervously. “You?”

“Don’t mind… I'll be fine as long as I'm not Slytherin”

John smiled, remembering how Sherlock would say the very same thing. He felt a pang of pain with the reminder and his smile faded.

“What house do you _want_ to be in?” Greg smiled, sensing John’s discomfort.

John smiled sadly, remembering yet another thing Sherlock had said years ago. “Gryffindor,” he said. “I’d like to be Gryffindor.”

 

….

 

John smiled at the memory, trying not to think about the moment he was sorted, how he had missed the icy eyes that were missing from the Ravenclaw table, where they should have been. He shook himself out of it, always getting a strange sinking feeling whenever he thought about his… friend? Ex-friend? He didn’t even know how to address him even now. After not hearing from him all those years, the unanswered letters, the worry…

“Aha!” Greg hissed happily, effectively snapping John out of his mind and into reality.  “Sorting’s over. Bring on the food!” he rubbed his palms together, turning in his seat and facing the plates eagerly.

“Shhh, Greg! McGonagall’s standing” Molly nudged him with her shoulder.

They all turned to watch the headmistress stand in front of the podium and raise her hands in a mute plea for silence. The whole room quieted down in a matter of milliseconds.

“Welcome! Another year at Hogwarts has finally begun. For some the first… for some the last. I know we are all anxious to begin our annual Welcoming Banquet”. A couple of whoops resounded in the audience, Greg included. McGonagall raised her hand again. “Firstly, however, I have an important announcement to make about some things that will be happening this year”.

 Molly gasped “So it’s true!” she whispered urgently to Greg and John

“What’s true?” John whispered back, confused.

 “You didn’t hear? Everyone on the train was talking about it!”

“We were at the prefects meeting” Greg frowned “What do you mea-“

“This year-” McGonagall said loudly, instantly breaking the various whispered conversations that had broken out within the crowd, “will be a little different. Our friends from The Beauxbatons Academy of Magic will be staying with us after their castle suffered an infestation of giant spiders. While this issue is resolved Hogwarts will be welcoming the student body and staff to stay with us for as long as they need. I expect you all to be on your very best behaviour and remember to be good hosts”.

 The excitement within the crowd was now palpable. No other school had come to visit or stay in Hogwarts since the infamous last Triwizard tournament all those years ago when Harry Potter was still attending school.

  _Beauxbatons_... that name sounded so familiar in John’s mind. Some memory was trying to break free but he couldn’t find its source. He frowned, trying to remember where he'd heard that name before. “Molly,” he whispered “Beauxbatons.. where’s that? 

“France, I think. Why?” she answered quietly, still hanging onto McGonagall’s every word as she explained where the Beauxbatons students would be staying. (They would be divided equally between houses at random, rather than being sorted by the hat).

John hummed at Molly’s answer “Just curious”, he shrugged. He still couldn’t place the memory... but he’d definitely heard that name somewhere.

“Without further ado,” the headmistress said, “let us welcome the student and staff from the Beauxbatons Academy!”. The Great Hall gates opened with a swish of her wand and instantly a flurry of blue robed student began trickling in.

 They were all perfectly aligned, straight-backed and without a hair out of place. They light blue robes fluttered around their ankles but their feet were almost soundless in the light graceful walks. They all stared forward as if unaware of the students watching them go by as they gathered at the front of the hall, awaiting instructions. John watched them walk past, wide-eyed. If he had been drinking any water he was sure he would have spit all of it out.

 Greg huffed a laugh, “this is your own welcoming banquet isn’t it, Johnny?”. He grinned “what do we like this year? The girls? The boys?”

 “Shut up, Greg” John laughed, swatting his friend on the arm with the back of his hand. Nevertheless, he made absolutely no move to tear his eyes away from the gorgeous crowd of students passing by before him, a quiet parade of beauty. If anything he just seemed more focused on them. _Banquet indeed_.

 John had gained a bit of a reputation in the past couple of years, making conquests in the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Hufflepuff houses. Girls and boys were delighted, even eager, to be charmed by John. Greg had taken to calling him ‘Three houses Watson’ and unfortunately, the name had stuck. Ravenclaw was the only house he hadn’t dated anyone in... yet anyway. He never dated seriously, preferring the chase, the easy dates and no string attached. Not that he tricked anyone either. He _always_ made it explicitly clear to anyone interested that he wasn’t one to introduce to your parents. He wasn’t one to fall in love with. Sure, John had liked a lot of people... some of them quite a lot, but he was missing something… he never quite felt a pull towards any of them. He was missing… _something_. Something he felt he’d once had but couldn’t find where he lost it. 

As the new students filled up the front of the hall McGonagall started to divide them between houses, where they’d sit in the empty spaces, most of them looking anxious and a little lost. John didn’t blame them. This really must feel like a very first day at a new school… and he certainly remembered how lost _he_ felt the first day he was here.

 As soon as the Beauxbatons students began taking seats the empty silver plates at the centre of the tables suddenly flourished and filled up with servings of any dish you could possibly think of. With a cry of joy Greg tucked in unselfconsciously, and rolling his eyes to his friend John turned around from the still entering students and did the same.

John wasn’t watching the entrance when the last few students strode in. John wasn’t watching when one of them, a young boy with curly brown hair and icy eyes stood under the massive wooden gates for a moment, wearing under his light blue robe the same shade of vest a white dress shirt and perfectly tailored trousers. John wasn’t watching when one of his teachers rushed the boy inside when he had stopped to stare at the hall in absolute awestruck wonder.

 The boy looked up at the enchanted ceiling, smiling in amazement as the soft rain that dripped steadily from the enchanted ceiling above stopped just short of his head and magically disappeared into nothingness. The candles glowed around his head as he followed the corridor behind his colleagues, hearing nothing but the flickering of their flames as he tuned out everyone in the room. Reaching up he tucked a stubborn curl behind his ear. 

He looked around himself finding somewhere to sit when McGonagall directed him to one of the tables. He searched the tables and then… icy blue eyes found a head of familiar blond hair, turned away from him and towards another boy. His heart skipped several beats as his eyes widened.

Flashes of memories burst behind his eyes. Memories of that boy smiling down at him, laughing with him. Memories of that boy he hadn’t seen or spoken to in almost exactly 5 years. His best friend. Even after all this time. The only one Sherlock Holmes Had ever had.

 

John.

John.

John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JOHN JUST TURN AROUND FOR GODSAKE. Everything would go SO much faster. Gah.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long- I think we all needed some time to absorb TFP and collect ourselves again :)  
> But now I feel so motivated to give these two the loving ending they deserve. As far as I'm concerned Johnlock is canon. They're in love, and we know it. And if the show won't- WE can give them the ending they deserve <3<3 
> 
> Anyway... here's the new chapter :))

 

 

“John, you are SO funny!” Mary laughed, batting her long eyelashes and brushing her hair behind her shoulder in an overly-exaggerated motion. John preened under the attention, huffing a laugh and brushing it off suavely as he was so used to nowadays.

 Greg rolled his eyes at John from the table across dramatically. Molly pretended to throw up. John just ignored both of them, holding back a snort and his two best friends snickered with each other.

 John hadn’t been sure that taking divination had been a good subject choice but since Mary, a gorgeous blonde Beauxbaton, had come into the class and sat across from him he had been pleased with his decision.

 A couple of days had passed since the Welcoming Banquet when the new students had arrived, and the difference in ambience was still palpable. Everyone was just starting to get used to these blue robed students walking around their campus and discovering every hidden Hogwarts secret for themselves. John was pleased with the whole new wave of students to set his eyes on. So far, though, this girl Mary seemed like a perfect choice for his first catch. Her manner of flirting suggested a preference for a fun and short sort of affair rather than a serious relationship and John was absolute _on it_ , flashing charming grins and looking at her intently with his deep midnight eyes.

 So yes… Everything was going swimmingly so far for John. Sure, divination was not his favourite subject so far... and  Professor Trelawney was a little bit strange. But it was already halfway through the lesson and all he could think of was Mary’s blue gaze fixed right on him like tracking a target, their greenish hue in the very centre somehow reminiscent of another pair of eyes he’d sworn he’d seen before. A dangerous spark shone in the centre… perhaps if they were clearer… greyer. Like Ice. Or blue flames flickering slowly…

 John shook himself out of it. A weird feeling was spreading through his chest. An unwanted memory trying to seep through.

 The door of the classroom flew open and everyone was startled out of their numbed states and turned towards the door. Professor Septima Vector was standing in the doorway, dragging someone behind her. John strained his neck to look past Mary, trying to see who it was but couldn’t make them out from behind the professor.

 Professor Septima scowled as the student behind her struggled “I have a student here that believes himself too good for Arithmancy and has been non-stop complaining that your class is full and he has no reason to be in mine. I beg of you, Sybill. Take him off my hands.” She sounded so exhausted.

 How could a student have made such an impression in such a short amount of time? The first class wasn’t even over! John almost wanted to grin, his curiosity peaked as he once again attempted to get a look. But all he caught was a flashing glimpse of blue robes. A Beauxbatons then. Even more interesting.

 “Of course!” Trelawney glided gracefully across the room and close to the entrance to her classroom. “I saw this coming, you know. That’s why I saved up an empty seat. Just for him”. She motioned to the only empty table, the closest one to the door. She looked quite pleased with herself, though John suspected one of the students that had filled up the class had simply decided not to show up and had thus left a vacated seat.

“Right,” Professor Septima didn’t seem convinced either, but all too glad to get rid of this troublesome student she shoved him in front of herself and through the door.

 And subsequently, John’s heart fell from his chest like a dropped stone into his stomach.

 Time slowed as the familiar body of Sherlock Holmes fell through the door frame, all ruffled curls and frowning scowls scrunching up his face. He straightened up, still not tearing his gaze away from Professor Septima. And by _GOD_ … how had he _GROWN_. The short boy John had come to know had been stripped away for mile long legs and a thin long lean frame, the chubby pink cheeks had sunk into perfectly sculpted cheekbones. Even his neck seemed to have stretched into this pale long structure so gorgeous John had to physically force himself to tear his gaze away from to follow the eyes he knew he would find hiding beneath the array of dark curls... and Christ those eyes.

 But underneath everything… under all the changes the years had caused in him he still recognised the boy he had known what seemed so so long ago.  A lifetime ago. The boy who had taught him everything he knew about the magical world before coming here. His best friend.

 And suddenly those eyes met his, widening in shock and horror. His cheekbones bloomed a fiery red tone, giving him even more of a resemblance to the young boy John knew once. Neither made a move for a few moments. They just stared at each other in silence as Professor Septima spoke her gratitude and goodbye to Professor Trelawney before walking out of the door and closing it being her.

 “So Mr.Holmes, is it?” Trelawney asked, completely shattering the moment of frozen disbelief both boys had been trapped in. Sherlock tore his eyes away from John’s, “Er.. yes. Yes. Sherlock… is fine” he said, his voice wavering slightly as he straightened himself up.

 “Welcome to Divination! Take a seat! I reserved this empty chair just for you, my dear! Saturn warned me of your unexpected coming!” she exclaimed in her sing-song voice whilst motioning him to the chair with her wiry long and heavily ringed fingers.

 John just stared, still glued to his chair. Though it wasn’t like he could just stand in front to the class and demand why Sherlock was here. Why he hadn’t seen or heard from him in 5 years. Why over the course of those years he’d never even bothered to answer one of his-

 “John?” Mary asked, brow furrowed in concern.

The Gryffindor realised his hands were clenched into fists on top of the table, bunching up the red mantel into crushed waves of fabric. He let them go abruptly. “Oh. Yes. I’m… I’m fine. Perfect.” He shrugged.  “Why shouldn’t I be?” he muttered, forgetting himself.

 Mary didn’t look convinced but she let it go. “Anyway...” she said, conspiratorially. “You know that kid that just walked in? That’s Sherlock Holmes. Biggest freak in Beauxbatons if you ask me”

 John stared at her, his heart still beating painfully against his ribs and his fists clenching. “What?”

 “A freak,” she said again as if having to emphasise how much she didn’t understand him. How could she? John thought. He was the only one who’d ever understood him. Just as he was. “No one likes him,” she continued. “Always saying weird things and getting himself punched. Little weirdo deserves it, to be honest. Practically asks for it.”

 Then and there John decided he wanted absolutely nothing to do with Mary. He hummed noncommittally and pretended to listen as she proceeded to tell him about the boy he’d once known. It’s not that he was exactly in perfect terms with Sherlock himself right now. In fact, he was rather confused as to how to feel himself.

There was a part of him.. the one was currently trying to quiet down that knew and acknowledged he had missed Sherlock deeply from the moment they’d been separated. But there was another part of him that seethed at the lack of explanations as to why they hadn’t seen each other. Because it certainly hadn’t been John’s fault. He’d sent Gladstone with countless letters. But week after week, month after month and year after year each, every single one of them had remained unanswered. He’d gotten no sign whatsoever that Sherlock would or even wanted to ever see or speak to him again. And now he’d just showed up at his class and after just a look had opted for ignoring John. Again. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t recognised him. John could very well see that Sherlock simply had chosen not to acknowledge the fact that their eyes had met, and all the history behind them.

“And he’s always talking about Hogwarts! As if it was a _good_ school” she scoffed. “Beauxbatons is so much better! So much neater. Everything is perfectly organised and makes sense. This school cannot even begin to compare to-”

John sighed. Wondering when this bloody class would finally end. He did his best to ignore Mary... and the sneaking tingling in his neck that someone was staring at him intently.

…

As soon as the bell rang Sherlock stood from his seat as if he was in a race. He started smashing every piece of material he’d gotten out of his bag back into it carelessly. _Stupid stupid stupid!_ He kept repeating to himself. His plan to avoid being seen by John in the few months he’d be here was ruined. In just 3 days. Fabulous. He was fairly certain he’d already broken one of his best quills as he mashed everything into his bag in his haste to as far away from there as possible. He swung his bag across his shoulders and at last… he looked up.

John was standing. He clearly hadn’t moved since he’d stood up and had no doubt been watching as Sherlock maniacally shoved things in his bag.

They just stood perfectly still for a moment. Staring at each other. An almost perfect replica of the moment Sherlock had stumbled in and into John’s ocean blue gaze.

John looked like he felt… like he wasn’t sure how he felt. Sherlock tried his best to deduce him. Tried his best to not focus on his nervously hammering heart and the blood roaring in his ears and watched him. Nothing. He could focus on _nothing_ but those deep eyes that held so much weight in their stare. So much loss.

A lifetime could have gone by as they stayed like that, staring at each other. Sherlock could easily see the anger starting to sizzle under John’s skin. Not unexpected, of course. But there was something else there. Not just sadness. Not just pain. Something more prominent Sherlock still couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Hey, John!” Mary called out, once again breaking their tension. “Do you want to come to the lake? I’d love a tour of the outside grounds!” She giggled as if there was something absolutely hilariously charming about what she’d said.

“Huh?” John turned towards her, startled. He hadn’t heard a single word she’d uttered, haven been too focused on the frozen boy in the blue robes.

“The grounds? A tour?” she said, still smirking.

“Oh… er.. sorry. I uh... can’t today. Maybe another time” he answered. He didn’t even wait to see if she'd been disappointed, immediately turning back to the spot where Sherlock had been standing perfectly still.

But he was gone. The space empty; as if he hadn’t been there at all, to begin with.

….

 

So he’d been right. Sherlock was avoiding him.  He’d just gotten up and left. Ran off on John without a word. Again.

A full day had gone by since and John hadn’t caught a single glimpse of the man again. Not even at breakfast. He’d scanned the tables one by one trying to grasp even a hint of those unmistakable curls or a flash of those icy green-grey eyes but... nothing. Part of him wondered if he’d seen Sherlock at all but not even his imagination was as good as to imagine… _that_.

 

Not that John noticed… Or cared.

In the end, the most prominent emotion he had up till now was anger. A familiar buzz in his veins thrummed to the beat of his whirling thoughts. He’d already been hurt enough when Sherlock had never attempted to make contact with him. HIM. Someone, Sherlock had claimed was his very best friend. His _ONLY_ friend.

 John had understood how crushed his friend had been when he’d had to move to France with his parents but… why should he have taken it out on _John_? It wasn’t his fault! And in the blink of an eye, John had been thrust onto his first year at Hogwarts without his friend… without even a word from him. And the silence had persisted for years. Up till now, it seemed. How was John guilty in all of this? Why did he deserve to be treated like this by a boy he’d cared for and stood by all those years?

 

John closed his eyes as he practically dragged himself down the corridor. It was 5 O’clock in the evening, his very first shift this year walking the corridors as a Prefect. And he hoped to Merlin he wouldn’t run into anyone because in the mood he was in he would deduct points for basically anything.

How could he have one this to him? Why? Goddamn bastard. Hell, maybe Mary was right. Maybe Sherlock Holmes had become nothing more that a little…

“FREAK!”

 John stopped in his tracks as he heard the angry shout in the corridors. It wasn’t a voice he recognised but there was no doubt in him that it meant trouble. And if the little nudge in his gut was anything to go by… he knew exactly who ‘trouble’ was currently picking on.

 He took an exasperated breath and shaking his head he followed the voice. And if his pace was hurried and bordering on mildly desperate well that was just because it was his time on duty and clearly he was the closest Prefect around. Obviously.

 Just as he was rounding the corner he spotted them, three Beauxbatons boys surrounding none other than Sherlock Holmes himself. Sherlock Holmes, who was currently sporting what looked to be a rather impressive scowl considering they were three against one. John could definitely see the trace of fear in his eyes, but he knew that he was probably the only one of them who could. John, unfortunately, still knew Sherlock’s expressions like the palm of his hand after training himself for years to see past the seemingly cool mask of indifference.  

One of the boys, clearly the leader, shoved Sherlock against the wall as the other two laughed merrily. “Don’t you dare say anything like that again you freak! You don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

 Sherlock grimaced when the back of his head smashed loudly against the stone wall behind him. “Not my fault you’re cheating on Sally, Anderson. Or that you don’t even bother to change when you’ve clearly got this new girl’s perfume all over yourself.”

“YOU INSOLENT LITTLE-”

“OY!” John called out, walking rapidly towards them. “What the hell do you think you guys are doing?!”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. If he’d looked anxious to leave before it was nothing to what he looked like now. He struggled against the hold Anderson had on him, to no avail, and avoided John’s eyes as best he could.

“Who the hell are you?” Anderson laughed. “Leave now. Or regret it blondie”. He grinned, looking pleased with himself. His other two friends didn’t look as sure, already backing away from John’s glare.

“Excuse me?” John just raised an eyebrow, this guy was just getting more and more ridiculous.

 “Phil…” one of the other guys, a shorter dark haired boy whispered to Anderson “He’s a Prefect... look at his badge. I think we should-“

Anderson only laughed harder, forgetting momentarily about Sherlock and loosening his hold on him. Without the fists forcing him up Sherlock slid to the ground in a painful looking slide and fell to the ground with an audible thump. “Pshhht. What does that even mean for us? What are you gonna do Mr Prefect, huh? Deduct house points from us for teaching a freak a lesson?” he snickered again.

John didn’t look even slightly intimidated. He raised an eyebrow and looked behind his shoulder. “No. But if you touch another hair on his head I can smash your head in. Would you like that instead?” he took a step towards Anderson, his hand already clenching in preparation. Anderson stumbled back, clearly not used to being threatened back by anyone.

“Y-You can’t! You’ll get expelled or something! You don’t mean it!”

 _So much for a supposed brave bully,_ John thought. He shoved Anderson against the wall and leant close to his face, his eyes darkening in anger. “Try me,” he hissed.

 The Beauxbatons struggled. “Let me go! We were just joking around! If you knew him at all you’d understand! He’s not worth saving, mate!”

“Don’t call me mate” John deadpanned, his hold on the bully strengthened for a moment before he let him go completely. “Get out. Don’t you ever touch Sherlock Holmes again”

Anderson nodded fervently and rushed past them as quickly as he could, followed closely by his companions.

John turned to Sherlock, who was still frozen in shock on the floor. One of his cheekbones seemed to be forming a rather impressively sized bruise. John’s heart ached with every passing second where the silence just lengthened between them. John didn’t know whether he wanted to hug or punch him.

Seconds ticked by. He forced himself to turn away again, to walk away from this boy and save himself from the inevitable hurt of Sherlock pushing him away again.

 “John!”

 John stopped, heart in his throat as he turned to the sound of Sherlock’s voice.

“John.. I…” Sherlock had stood up now, he looked down at the floor as if unable to meet John’s eye. “I… Thank you,” he said.

“It’s fine, Sherlock. It’s... it’s all fine”. He refused to acknowledge how choked out his voice sounded when he spoke and started to walk away again. Even just the sight of Sherlock was making his guy churn with so many emotions he didn’t even know where or how to start sorting them out.

“Wait!” Sherlock called after him again, his voice high and desperate.

John turned again, unable to stop himself and for the first time, Sherlock _looked_.  

 

_Reserved_

_Dangerous_

_Hurt_

The words flashed before his eyes and in those mere seconds where he tried to search for something… anything to say, he saw John fully. The little, lost boy he’d spotted so many years ago in Diagon Alley had grown completely into himself. He no longer looked lost and afraid. He held himself proudly. His round eleven-year-old face had transformed into a rugged boyish handsome sixteen-year-old. And his eyes… his eyes still held the same curiosity and innocence but were now tinted with charm and a trace of danger. Sherlock’s breath hitched. He felt a familiar warmth course through him, something he knew he’d felt before.

He opened his mouth, trying to find something to say and knowing if he didn’t.. he would definitely make this irreparable.  

“I..” he stumbled out, “I told you you’d be a Gryffindor”. _Stupid stupid stupid._

That managed to startle a small snicker out of John. “Yeah well…” he said, shrugging. He couldn’t find what to say next. Sherlock gave him a shy smile, which John instinctually mirrored. Some of the weight in the air around them dissipated, but the tension still thrummed like electricity, slowly pulling them together.

“It’s… its good to see you, John” Sherlock whispered.

John licked his lips, huffing a small embarrassed laugh. “It’s good to see you too, Sherlock”.

Sherlock kept looking at him, watching emotion after emotion flash across his eyes. But now… it was almost as if there was some joy in there too….

The Beauxbatons offered another tentative smile, not quite knowing how to react.

John didn’t answer Sherlock’s smile, instead, he started walking rapidly towards him, his face stony still, unmoving. Sherlock swallowed loudly, not able to read John’s expression and suspecting John was still unsure as to what he would do when he reached him. But Sherlock knew. He knew he was gonna get punched. It wasn’t the first time and it certainly would be the last. Not that he blamed John. Better just get this over with. Sherlock closed his eyes, waiting for the hit.

John threw himself at him, but instead of feeling the familiar sensation of a fist colliding with his face Sherlock felt the weight of John’s arms around his waist as he was embraced in a bone crushing …hug? After the initial millisecond of frozen shock, Sherlock stopped thinking, and instinctively burrowed his face into John’s neck, throwing his arms around his shoulders…. and sighed.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THEY HUGGED <3<3
> 
> Also happy Johnlock anniversary!!! January 29th!!! <3<3


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides* this is SO late. Again. Welp... I have no excuses. Other than I binge watched sense 8 and it's great you should see it. Ok. Here's the new chapter.

Sherlock knew John had written him letters. Countless letters that had, in the end, remained completely unanswered… but never forgotten. How could John Watson not hate him, when Sherlock himself had made him promise not to forget him, to write him, to keep in touch whenever possible, and then proceeded to ignore his existence for the next 5 years.

 The past five summers spent without John’s warm and familiar company had been the absolute worst ones Sherlock could remember. Not to mention, every single rotten day of attending The Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

Finally being here at Hogwarts, so close to the best friend he’d ever had was just so surreal. He’d thought of this, dreamed of this. He could feel John’s heart beating against his as their chests pressed together, somehow the reality even better than all of his imaginings. And there had been plenty.

Suddenly realising how long the hug had been going on and wondering if it was still in the socially acceptable range Sherlock loosened his hold on John. He started to let go, and the blonde followed his lead, apparently unaware of Sherlock’s sudden unease and nerves.

When they separated both of their eyes were partly glazed and John laughed breathily, still unable to process everything that had just happened.

Sherlock grinned, trying but failing to contain the immense joy he had by seeing that look on the Gryffindor’s face. He threw his arms over John again and held him tightly. His colossal relief was so immense it was as if the years he had not seen John were ones he had spent holding his breath. He was so overwhelmed, completely dizzy with it. How had he not remembered how blue John’s eyes were? Or how tanned his skin was? How his brow crinkled delicately when he laughed-

Suddenly hyper-aware that he was still hugging John again Sherlock stiffened. Realising how long the hug had been going on and wondering if it was still in the socially acceptable range he let go of him, embarrassed and extremely flushed. He cleared his throat and composed his features before tentatively looking up to meet John’s gaze once again, but John was still grinning at him, completely unfazed by Sherlock’s second hug.

“I can’t believe… Sherlock…” John breathed out, his eyes threatening to spill over with tears.

“I know” Sherlock whispered, his own vision quite blurry. But a blurry John was infinitely better than John at all.

“I mean… what are the chances of there being an infestation at Beauxbatons! That you finally get to come here!” John shook his head and stared at Sherlock as if still expecting him to disappear like a mirage.

“Oh. Yeah… That was… really something.” Sherlock murmured, he looked down at his feet, avoiding John’s gaze.

John narrowed his eyes, “I saw that”.

Sherlock’s heart thumped unevenly against his ribs. He didn’t know what exactly he was hoping John hadn’t seen. Why was his face so damn hot? They really needed to put some fans around here. “Saw umm... saw what?

“That look! Your ‘there’s more’ look. What exactly happened at Beauxbatons?”

 _Damn_ Sherlock thought. That wasn’t exactly what he’d been afraid John would notice, he wasn’t even sure what he’d been afraid to show anyway, but he definitely did not want to get into _that_. “Nothing!” Sherlock scoffed, trying and failing to look oblivious.

“Sherlock”

The Beauxbatons made a mental note to revise his previous memories on John Watson and how on earth he had missed how smug and white his grin really was. And the effects of said grin on his own blood pooling in his cheeks needed to be reviewed immediately as well.

“I...” Sherlock muttered. “Fine. I might’ve been the cause of the potion exploding. But how was I supposed to expect that it would affect every spider in a 20km radius so drastically?”

John’s triumphant expression only twitched slightly as his eyes enlarged in shock. “Spiders?!”

“The... fumes of the explosion might have made them…. Enlarge dramatically. Their size could not be decreased with magic. ‘The Department of Magical accident and catastrophes’ tried. Several times. But in my defence how could I have expected my formula would be successful to THAT degree?”

John started laughing loudly. “Oh, Merlin. You haven’t changed a bit have you?” he looked immensely pleased as he beamed at Sherlock’s sheepish expression. Sherlock could faintly detect the slightest hint of the sadness he had seen there before, lingering in the corners... but just as he tried to assess the expression John seemed to collect himself and went back to beaming.

“We definitely have to catch up” John stated. He started walking but stopped when Sherlock just stared at him in confusion.

There it was. Sherlock braced himself for the inevitable goodbye that would most definitely follow. Sure they’d had a nice greeting. but surely John would want to go back to his shift? Or his life, now that Sherlock was not really a part of it. He couldn’t just expect John to pick up their friendship where Sherlock had left it as if nothing had ever happened. Sure they might “catch up” sometime, but things were most certainly never going to be-

“Sherlock? Aren’t you coming?” John asked, bemusedly.

That effectively stopped Sherlock’s rapid train of thought. John wanted him to follow? Where? What had just happened? He hated not knowing exactly what was going on. “Huh?” he asked, stupidly.

 John smiled as if understanding, “the 'catching up'! Come on! I’ll give you a tour of the castle grounds and everything. It's your first week at Hogwarts! At last!”

As hard as Sherlock tried he could not help the happy grin that bloomed across his face. Yes… it was his first week at Hogwarts with John. At last.

…..

They walked around the castle, catching up for hours. John told Sherlock about the time he fell into the icy waters of the lake during his second year and landed on top of a very unlucky mermaid… she hadn’t been very pleased with him, but luckily the giant squid had come to John’s rescue soon enough. Sherlock told John about the time he had snuck into the care of magical creature’s massive dome at his school, searching for Acromantula venom, and had somehow accidentally released about a couple hundred Demiguises into the castle. Fortunately, he hadn’t been caught. Unfortunately, not all the Demiguises had either. They still roamed around the castle, often pranking students and locking classrooms from the inside.

John laughed and grinned and it was hard to believe that so much time had passed between them, all those years of silence and distance. They walked through the expansive gardens and along the perimeter of the forbidden forest. John didn’t miss the curious looks Sherlock shot into the darkness beneath the trees but said nothing. He knew a single word from the Beauxbatons would probably be enough to convince him to go into the forest and was really not feeling up to the dangers of the creatures that lived within, nor the detention they would most certainly face.

“So, that’s basically a fast version of what I’ve been up to these couple of years… that and Quidditch of course” Sherlock finished.

“You play?” John exclaimed. “What team? Wait- I don’t think I even know how teams in Beauxbatons are divided… do you have houses or something? But wait... what position do you play?” John’s enthusiastic words tripped over themselves in their effort to get out as quickly as possible. Sherlock snorted, fondly remembering John’s tendency to ramble uncontrollably when excited.

“Of course we have 'houses', John. They’re Bellefeuille, Papillonlisse, and Ombrelune. I'm in the Ombrelune house, the one most similar to a combination of Ravenclaw and Slytherin from Hogwarts. They value knowledge, intellect and cunning more than anything. Our teams correspond to the houses. I play the seeker of course. You, however, play Chaser if I’m not mistaken.”

“Of course you know that without even having me tell you” he smiled. “We should play sometime!” He tried not to let it show how shaken Sherlock’s perfect French accent had left him. He should’ve known that Sherlock spoke French of course, given that Beauxbatons was in France... but just hearing his newly deepened voice in that accent… John didn’t really want to think about the skip his heart had given at the rolled 'R’s and the vibration of Sherlock’s voice at the hollow of his throat.

Sherlock’s brow rose at John’s suggestion, surprised “Really?”.

“Sure! Unless you’re scared I’ll still beat you!” he nudged Sherlock’s side teasingly.

The Beauxbaton rolled his eyes. “You only won because you cheated. With your 3 meter jumping and all. There’s absolutely no way you could possibly win now.” He had to admit, though, John’s enthusiasm was quite contagious and he found himself beaming back at the Gryffindor.

“You’re on” John deadpanned, excitement shimmering in his eyes.

And perhaps Sherlock was still doubtful whether John was just pretending to have forgiven him… and perhaps John was still unsure as to whether Sherlock was just being polite. But the strongest emotion they both felt, was the happiness that even after all these years… they fell back into step with each other as if they had never been apart at all.

….

John walked into the Great Hall the next morning, already scanning the tables and rows of students for a familiar curly head. Anticipation thrummed low in his stomach. But after a quick scan and another more careful plucking out of individual faces and hair styles John didn’t spot Sherlock anywhere.

“John!” a high voice called.

The Gryffindor turned towards his own table following the voice. Molly and Greg were signalling him to come with enthusiastic waves of their hands.

“Hey mate! We saved you a seat. You were looking for us?” Greg asked.

“Oh uh… yeah” John shrugged. He took a seat next to his friend and tried not to seem distracted or disappointed as he started loading pancakes and scrambled eggs onto his plate.

“Liar!” Molly laughed “Who were you looking for? Mary, I bet”. Greg groaned around his mouthful of food.

“Mate.. n’ffense. Like. I know you like Mary. But she’s a real jerk.” He stuffed more food into his mouth, still attempting to talk. “You could dho sho muchf beffer thfan her” he garbled out, shrugging.

“No, no. I wasn’t looking for Mary. It’s nothing really…”

Molly’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Then who? Ugh! Greg stop eating so fast you’re gonna hurt yourself!”.

“This Beauxbatons guy that I-“

“A guy took your sights away from Mary? I like him already” Greg grinned, raising his orange juice in cheers to wash down his mouthful.

John rolled his eyes “It's not like that… he and I used to know each other when we were younger. Sherlock? I think I told you guys about him”.

“Oh yeah! Your childhood best friend! The one who never answered your letters when he moved away? He’s here?!” Molly’s eyes were wide and curious.

“Yeah. He’s a Beauxbaton now. We talked yesterday and I thought… I dunno. I thought everything would go back to the way it was.”

Molly shrugged, “Maybe he’s just nervous. Not seeing you after all those years. Must be pretty weird to have you here with him. He probably doesn’t know where he stands with you is all.”

“Well... I don’t know where I stand with him either! We had a great time yesterday but… maybe he was just being nice. I mean he stopped writing for a reason, right? He didn’t want to keep in touch. Why should that change now?”

Greg and Molly assured him that he if he hadn’t written him he must have had a reason. No one cuts contact without a motive. John supposed they were right. After all… John _knew_ Sherlock. At least he used to. But he knew Sherlock wasn’t the kind of person that was polite solely for appearance's sake. He was loud and some would even say rude when he didn’t care for someone. He wasn’t a fake.

John sighed, and eager to change the topic asked his friend what was going on with them. Molly rambled on enthusiastically about her new project and her plans to make a perfect ‘Felix Felicis’ potion for her final exam with Professor Slughorn. Greg talked about the new Quidditch team trials and absolutely insisted John had to sign him up as the second beater, attempting to show off his strong batting skills with his fork but just ending up splattering Charlie Magnussen’s face at the Slytherin table with scrambled eggs. John chuckled and smiled with his friends and for a moment, he didn’t worry about Sherlock.

….

After a disastrous potions lesson, where John may or may not have accidentally set his robe on fire, he decided he should get started with his homework for that class as soon as possible. After all, he better get on Professor Slughorn’s good side if he wanted a good recommendation letter for St. Mungo’s hospital after graduation next year. He had very good contacts with some of the healers, as some were his ex-students and members of his club.

He still hadn’t seen even the slightest glimpse of the Beauxbatons anywhere but decided that if Sherlock wanted to see him, he would. So he wouldn’t worry about it anymore. Or he would try not to anyway.

He walked into the library, determined to focus his energy on his potions homework and searched for the section on the ‘drought of the living dead’ potion for his three scroll essay. He was just finishing up taking all the books he thought he would e useful from the top shelf when he heard some muttering coming from the other side of the bookshelf. He stepped down and removed some lower books from eye level. Instantly, he spotted none other than Sherlock himself.

Said boy was muttering to himself, practically burrowed inside the book he cradled gently in his hands. John smiled, wondering why on earth he’d been worried and climbing down the rest of the steps on the ladder to make his way to him. He sat down next to him, much to the startlement of the Beauxbatons.

“Hey!” John grinned.

Sherlock looked up in surprise, his cheeks colouring as soon as he made eye-contact with the blonde. “Oh! Uh… hi, John”.

 “What are you up to? I didn’t see you at breakfast”, he tried to sound like he hadn’t been obsessing over that the whole day but was pretty sure Sherlock could see it plainly in his face anyway.   

Sherlock shrugged, “I very rarely eat breakfast back at Beauxbatons. But to answer your question, I’m just getting acquainted with Hogwart’s collection of books. Who knows how long I…” he stopped there, swallowing and looking away from John’s sympathetic gaze.

John nodded, feeling a knot tightening in his stomach. He licked his lips, trying his best to focus on. “You never eat breakfast?” he sounded concerned. “You have to eat something! Most important meal of the day and all that”.

Sherlock huffed out a laugh “I require very little food, John. I function perfectly throughout the day without it”.

John frowned, “just because you don’t get hungry it doesn’t mean your body doesn’t need it. Come on, you’re heaving breakfast with me tomorrow”. Sherlock froze as he turned the page on his book, but tried to play it off as he cleared his throat and kept reading in feigned fascination. “A-alright”, he agreed softly.

John smiled. “Anyway...what are you reading so thoroughly? I thought Beauxbatons would have similar books as Hogwarts”.

Sherlock shook his head. “No, the academy _does_ have a broad collection of books… but they’re mostly boring charms. Hogwarts has a much more extensive variety in the dark arts. Especially in the restricted section”, he mused.

“You’ve been here less than a week and you’ve already snuck into the restricted section?” John laughed loudly and was immediately shushed by some students nearby. “Why am I not surprised?” he said, much more quietly this time.

“You _haven’t_?” Sherlock looked absolutely stricken at the idea that one could spend time in Hogwarts more than a day without breaking rules of any kind.

“No!” John was still laughing, not doubting for one second that Sherlock hadn’t spent his first day at Beauxbatons breaking every rule he could possibly think of at the age of 11.

Sherlock shook his head in faux-disapproval, “I’ll take you there sometime after curfew”. _Why did I say that? I didn’t mean to say that now John is going to think that I was... was what exactly?_ Sherlock didn’t know exactly but he averted John’s eyes anyway, feeling his heart beating faster the more he thought about the way John was looking at him.

“Yeah! Absolutely!” John exclaimed, and Sherlock subtly breathed in in relief. “But only if you have breakfast tomorrow”, he added.

Sherlock rolled his eyes “Fine.”

John grinned at him as if he was the sun itself. Why was John grinning at him like that? Shouldn’t he be running away from him already? That’s what most people who spent time with Sherlock did. Of course, he’d known John when they were kids but… it had been years, surely John would not tolerate him the same way he used to.

But John just remained by his side, talking about his potions essay and moaning about not being able to go out to practice if he wanted to finish it tonight.

“Finish it fast. If you don’t practice you won’t stand a chance against me, John.” John gasped dramatically and nudged Sherlock’s shoulder teasingly, Sherlock felt his cheeks heat. Maybe the school’s heating problem also affected the library? Why else would he be so susceptible to blushing so frequently nowadays?  

“Hah! You wish Holmes! But hey, I seriously have to go write that essay. But tomorrow after school. You. Me. Quidditch.” He looked at Sherlock pointedly as he stood up, potion books cradled under his arm.

Sherlock rose a brow. “Better practice then, Watson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY theyll flirt some more! 
> 
> Ill be better with posting schedules i promise!!! <3<3 Thanks for reading!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok OK. I KNOW it took another month. *inserts apologies* *you say you dont believe me anymore* *I ask for another chance* ...you know the drill....  
> so.....
> 
> on with the fic?

 

Even with the promise that Sherlock would show up to breakfast, John was still unsure that the Beauxbatons actually would. The thought of him hanging around Hogwarts grounds was still quite perplexing and frankly… bordering on surreal. It seemed as if their time spent in childhood together was another life, a separate universe to the one they were currently living in. Not that John wasn’t over the moon to see Sherlock again. But there still were so many things unsaid between them. So much tension and he didn’t even know where to begin searching for its origin. Of course, there were the unanswered questions, and the barriers age had made them both build around themselves unlike to the openness of childhood friendships. But there was something else too… something electric that thrummed between them. Something John sensed whenever Sherlock looked at him or brushed by him. But he couldn’t understand the effect it had on him… it had never happened before when they were kids… had it?

A distant memory from the time Sherlock’s father had opened the door and startled them apart flashed quickly through John’s eyes. He remembered Sherlock’s face, so close to his, looking nervous and… expectant? Anticipating? John’s brow furrowed, he hadn’t revisited that night in his memories for so long. He still didn’t quite understand the charge in the air. The feeling of some force pulling them together… towards what?

John shook his head, clearing his mind from the whirring and confusing memories and turned once again to see if he could spot Sherlock anywhere. This time his eyes caught on the inky black curls of his friend, lingering close to the Gryffindor table and looking unsure as to where to sit or what to do. John’s heart swelled with affection.

“Hey Sherlock!” he called out, relieved at the sight of the clearly nervous Beauxbatons. Sherlock had just enough time to look up in surprise when John yanked him enthusiastically by the arm and pulled him towards his friends at the Gryffindor table.

“But- wait! John- I’m in Rav- won’t your friends be-? O-Okay yes yes I’m going”

John stopped in front of the bench right in front of Greg and Molly, who stopped their conversation and looked curiously between John and Sherlock, smiling politely. Molly turned to John, her eyes glinted knowingly.

“Greg. Molly. This is Sherlock. The friend from childhood I was telling you about” he grinned, unable to contain his excitement.

“Hi, Sherlock!” Molly grinned

“Take a seat, mate,” Greg said, motioning towards the empty space on the bench across from them with a smile.

Sherlock greeted them softly before sitting down beside John, fidgeting with his thumbs and seemingly at a loss of what to say next. John wondered if Sherlock perhaps would’ve liked to sit with his own Beauxbatons friends... he was about to ask Sherlock if he wanted to bring them over when Sherlock finally spoke.

“So… you’re John’s friends,” he said a bit awkwardly, John’s heart almost burst with affection for the attempt at conversation.

Greg didn’t seem to mind the awkwardness and jumped in enthusiastically. “Pssht. He wishes. We just hang out with him so he gets a taste of what it’s like to be cool, eh Johnny?”

“Oi! As if! You’re lucky to be in my esteemed company” said John around a mouthful of pancakes, dipping his fork into his yoghurt dish and flicking it at Greg.

Greg laughed, easily dodging the goopy substance, Molly was not so lucky.

“If you boys are done being children” she started, fighting off an indulgent smile as she wiped off the yoghurt smear off her cheek with her index finger, “you’ll admit that the only one here doing you any guys favours is me.” She winked and stretched out her hand for Sherlock to shake. “I’m Molly. Molly Hooper. The only mature one in this group, clearly.”

Sherlock snorted, shaking her hand. “I can. Trust me. John hasn’t changed at all from when he was eleven as far as I can tell” he grinned mischievously at her as John gasped dramatically, hand pressed to his chest.

“Well, I never!” he huffed. Sherlock laughed. And John then and there decided that if Sherlock’s laugh was one of the best things he had ever seen. And how could he have forgotten that? And how had he not realised how much he had missed it?

Breakfast passed quickly, in between John and Sherlock telling Greg and Molly about their childhood adventures and John’s first magical experience with their own version of Quidditch. To this Greg responded excitedly with his own first magical experience when he was 8 and had made his mother’s cat Scruffles invisible for about an hour and only noticed when he’d when he tripped over her and nearly fallen head first down stairs. Molly had had her first experience when she was 7 and she’d fallen off her father’s boat into the sea. At the time she hadn’t known how to swim and had rapidly sunk into the murky waters, but when her lungs could take no more and she instinctively opened her mouth instead of the gush of water she’d expected to flood her mouth and lungs, she found that she could breathe.

The conversation then took to their favourite Quidditch teams and future matches against the Beauxbatons houses.

“Speaking of Quidditch,” John said, turning towards Sherlock. “Are we still on for our match this afternoon?”

“Did you finish your essay?” Sherlock said dubiously but smiling despite himself.

“Yes?” John said it sounded like a question.

Sherlock huffed a laugh “Right. Well then. I hope you’re prepared to lose against me”.

“Against Johnny, here?” Greg said in surprise. “Our cap here’s quite the player, Sherls.”

Sherlock shrugged “if I remember correctly he has an above average aim, it’s true.” He turned to John, smiling smugly “But I’m much faster.”

….

“That’s not fair!” Sherlock bellowed, eyes wild and hair damp and sticking out in all directions. He coursed his fingers through it, frustrated, but only managed to make it look more like it belonged to a crazed scientist.

“Yes, it is!” John laughed. “Not my fault I’m too good at batting”.

“Yes, well… I- shut up” muttered Sherlock, getting back into position, Quaffle held safely tucked under his arm and bat on the other, crouching so he could also hold the front end of his broom with the same hand. John held the other Quaffle and bat in a mirror position, flying to his own station gently to prepare for the next round. They’d been at this for a couple of hours, throwing both balls into the air and flying as fast as they could, batting as accurately and hard as they were able to score on each other's hoops and speeding back to protect their own. So far John was winning 150 to 80.

Sherlock had slowly gone from smug to frustrated with every passing goal. And John increasingly amused, as had Sherlock, really, but he was determined not to show it.

“What happened to all that confidence that you’d win eh, Sherlock?” John called out, teasing.

“Shut up and play” Sherlock cried, fighting off a grin.

John chuckled “Fine. THREE, TWO, ONE…. GO!” They both threw the balls into the air and John zoomed in slamming down the bat and sending the ball flying directly into the middle hoops on Sherlock’s side. Sherlock, in turn, held the bat with both hands and swung as hard as he could to his own ball, desperate to get to John’s rapidly approaching ball, but just then John whooshed in front of Sherlock and intercepted the Beauxbatons ball, sending it alongside the other to Sherlock’s right hoop.

Sherlock growled in frustration as he missed the second Quaffle by a hair. “NO!”

“AHA!” hooted John. “And the Gryffindor scores AGAIN! DOUBLE POINTS! 170 to 80!” he started swinging side to side on his broom with his hips, closing his eyes and pumping his arms in a victory dance.

Sherlock snorted, rolling his eyes at John’s ridiculous dance, ignoring the weird lurch his heart made at John’s shirt riding up and revealing a sliver of tan skin on his flat abdomen. He looked away, clearing his throat.

“SO! You up for another round or have you had enough losing?” John said, flying up to meet him with a wink.

The Beauxbatons scoffed. “I’m just tiring you up. This was the warm-up John.”

“Right” John laughed.

…..

They played until the sun began to set and the sky was a vibrant mixture of orange and purple. The dark clouds swirled 'round with the fall wind and stirred up the leaves on the trees surrounding the pitch, sending dry leaves flying all around them, disturbed only by their flying and twirling them onto different directions (sometimes each other’s faces).

The first drop of rain landed on Sherlock’s nose, startling him.

“John!” he called. “It’s raining”

The Gryffindor quirked a brow “Is it? Or are you finally giving in to my amazing skills?”

Sherlock chuckled “As much as I know you’d love to hear that I’m actually serio-"

Just that second a massive flash of lightning ignited the clouds above them, and a groan of thunder startled John into holding his broom with both hands, almost losing his balance.

“Not so cocky now, are we?” Sherlock teased

John grinned “Lucky you. Just when I was about to get to 500 points!”

“More like 300 John, don’t push it” Sherlock sniffed, as he lowered himself to the ground.

“Against like 100!” John quipped, and followed Sherlock to the ground. He landed beside him with a soft thump just as the rain let loose and drops showered down heavily.

“We’ll see when it’s a real game, Watson. You may be a good chaser, but I’m the best seeker.”

John smiled “I’m just teasing, you’re actually a really good player… I’m just the best”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, smiling back. “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see which team wins.”

They started walking back to the castle, talking about the practice and their past Quidditch games. The sky was darkening rapidly around them and the rain was soaking their school robes steadily, making them heavy and cold, but neither sped up their pace up the grass covered hill.

It was a relief, however, walking into the warmth of the castle entrance and they both sighed in pleasure. John turned to Sherlock as the latter was pulling off his light blue robes, darkened with the cold rain and dripping steadily onto the marble floor. Hitherto, John hadn’t seen the Beauxbatons uniform without the outer robe. Now he could see Sherlock was wearing tight blue pants and a matching dress shirt. Over the dress shirt, he was wearing a tight vest of a slightly darker colour engraved with the Beauxbatons symbol and a dark tie. The water had soaked through the material of the robes and onto his shirt and vest and they both clung skin tight to Sherlock’s chest, accentuating his abdomen and collarbones. John could stop staring at those. Not to mention the few raindrops that were rolling down Sherlock’s pale neck and onto the hollow of his throat.

John looked away quickly, feeling his cheeks heat up and his heartbeat stutter. When had Sherlock gotten so… different? He cleared his throat and looked back at the Beauxbatons, keeping himself as calm as he could. “So… we should do this again sometime,” he said softly.

Sherlock looked up, rolling his wet robes and tucking them under his arm along with the box containing the bludgers and bats they’d used for practice.

“Oh. Um. Yes. We.. we should. Definitely.”

John grinned. “Good! Well… I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast then?”

Sherlock snorted, “You and your obsession with breakfast. Fine. I’ll.. see you then”.

John smiled, confused about the warmth in his stomach, but unable to summon up the will to question or stop it.

…

That’s how things went for a while. They talked, played Quidditch, ate breakfast together on occasion and took their divination classes together. But John couldn’t really see himself getting as close to Sherlock as they used to be. It was as if there was some sort of barrier there. And it wasn’t that hard to figure out what it was… they hadn’t talked bout their time apart. They’d talked about what they’d been up to, sure. But they hadn’t talked about _why_ they hadn’t talked during those years.

But how to even bring it up? They didn’t really hang out much outside of divination or their occasional Quidditch practices. Mostly because John couldn’t seem to find Sherlock anywhere. Not even the library. He even didn’t even know if Sherlock wanted to be found at all. If he even _wanted_ to spend more time with John. Although… he did seem happy to spend time with him when they were together. But then again maybe was just being nice? And John couldn’t just bring it up halfway through a divination class. ‘Hey Sherlock I know we haven’t really talked in 5 years but why did you never answer any of my letters? Also, why am I suddenly so nervous around you? Did you do something to your hair?’ No. That conversation would not go over well.

“Well don’t you look cheerful,” Molly said suddenly, startling John out of his trance.

“Oh. Hi, Molly. What’s up?” John sat up on the common room chair, the old springs on the cushions groaning under the movement. He’d been watching the fire flicker absentmindedly as he thought about Sherlock.

“Clearly not as much as what’s going on with you!” she smiled, taking a seat on the cushioned chair in front of him. “You alright?”

“Yeah” John sighed. “Just thinking about Sherlock. We still haven’t… really talked you know?”

Molly frowned “But you seem to be getting along pretty well. I thought things were more than fine between you two.”

“We are! But... I dunno. How well can a friendship be when there are… unfinished things. Or unspoken things.”

“You _need_ to talk to him,” said Molly. “As uncomfortable as it may seem… it’ll be better in the long run. The more you delay this conversation, the worse its gonna get. No good comes from holding things back.”

John groaned and threw his head back against the cushions. “I know... how, though? How do I talk to him?”

Molly rested her head on her hand, thinking. “Hmmm… well. You can’t just spring it on him. You’re right about that. He’d just become uncomfortable. Maybe... find a way to get him alone. Just the two of you, and actually have a conversation with him. Not just Quidditch talk. Hang out somewhere other than in the classroom or the field. And then ease into the subject”.

John nodded thoughtfully.

“Besides,” added Molly. “If you want things between you to be the way they were you need to confront him. And even more so if you want them to… develop.”

John frowned “Develop? What are you talking about?”. He felt nervous all of a sudden. 

Molly smiled and shrugged “I know you, John. I’ve seen that look before”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CANT they just sit down talk and then make out? I'll write faster. The faster I write the faster we can get through this oblivious pining <3<3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey HEY! Only TWO weeks of wait! Let's see how long I keep this up.

**_~~Dear Sherlock,~~ _ **

**_~~Hey Sherlo~~ _ **

**_~~Hi~~ _ **

**_~~I think we need to talk~~ _ **

**_~~I know you’ve been back for a while and we haven’t talked about it… but I just can’t keep ignoring~~ _ **

John groaned, scribbling out the hundredth attempt at a letter for Sherlock. He was determined to have this conversation with him once and for all, and he figured… if it was written down he wouldn’t have to die of mortification with whatever answer Sherlock gave. If Sherlock was indeed looking to avoid him, he could just write it down and then John would quietly slip into the gloom of embarrassment and hide out whenever he saw Sherlock anywhere in his proximity. Simple enough.

How to broach the subject, though? Maybe if he sent a less direct note first? ‘Ease into the subject’ as Molly had said. Of course, she had suggested a face-to-face confrontation. John pondered on that for about a couple of seconds. Nah. Why risk it?

John picked up a new parchment and started a new letter

**_Sherlock,_ **

Good. Solid start, solid start. Now what? A question? Help with homework, perhaps? No. Too cold. No Quidditch talk, Molly had said. An invitation? To… hang out? John bit his lip. This really shouldn’t be as hard as it was shaping up to be. Okay. Focus Watson. It’s just Sherlock.

**_So what happened to that trip to the restricted section you promised me?_ **

**_John_ **

Good enough. It didn’t sound too desperate… he didn’t think so anyway. Sherlock _had_ mentioned it a couple of weeks ago. Yeah….Good enough.

He turned in the darkened Gryffindor bedroom and pulled back the curtains surrounding his four poster bed. “Nox” he whispered, and the tip of his wand stopped shedding its soft white glow. John looked around to see if he’d disturbed any of his sleeping friends around him. Luckily, Greg’s bed was the nearest to his own, and judging by his disturbingly loud snores he hadn’t been disturbed by John’s soft muttering or the scratch of his quill.

“Gladstone?” John whispered into the dark room. Almost instantaneously, John heard the clicking of an owl’s beak somewhere above him. He craned his neck upwards and spotted his white and gold barn owl perched on one of the wooden posts of his bed staring down at him with wide inquisitive eyes. John chuckled softly. “There you are”, he smiled. Gladstone flitted down onto John’s shoulder with a couple flaps of his wings. His claws dug gently onto John’s soft pyjama shirt. “Would you mind taking this down to Sherlock Gladstone? You know him. You met him the day I got you. He’s over at the Slytherin common room.”

Gladstone blinked, which John took as a sign that he understood. He placed the letter in front of Gladstone, and the owl clasped it with his small yellow beak. Fortunately, John’s bed was situated directly beside the window which John usually left open when the room became stuffy. Gladstone fluttered outside, wings outstretched and sunk into the darkness.

John sighed, laying down on his bed but leaving the curtain open so he could see when Gladstone came back. He stared up at the ceiling, trying not to panic too much about Sherlock’s response. If there was one at all, anyway.

The Gryffindor didn’t notice when he fell asleep but soon enough he felt a nipping in his earlobe and the sound of something clicking impatiently. John opened his eyes blearily and saw Gladstone standing on his chest, head turned curiously as she watched him wake and process his surroundings, specifically the piece of parchment lying right in front of the owl’s claws.

_OH!_

“Thank you,” John smiled and patted the owl softly on the head. Gladstone hooted quietly and zoomed back to his spot above John’s bed.

John turned back to the creased parchment and reached for it with trembling fingers. He unfolded it carefully, suddenly having a vision of possible dismissive words or worse… his own letter sent back without a response. He found neither.

**_John,_ **

**_Funny to find you awake at such an hour. But yes, I did indeed promise to show you to the restricted section. Does Saturday sound good?_ **

**_I was happy to see Gladstone with your note. I missed him._ **

**_SH_ **

John was overcome by a flurry of several emotions. Joy, at having Sherlock agree to take him to the restricted section and thus providing an opportunity for them to spend more time together. Bemusement, at Sherlock’s formality and even slight detachment. And finally irrational jealousy, over his acknowledgement that he missed Gladstone. As if he hadn’t seen him several times over the years and ignored him, left him to go back to John empty of responses. How was it so easy to admit to missing an OWL but not his _friend_? His _friend_ who had been there for him for YEARS. John frowned. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to feel now that he’d acknowledged to himself that he’d been devastated by being ignored… but it hadn’t been this. This… _crushing_ sadness. This anger.

He closed his eyes, knowing that whatever he was feeling was probably heightened by finally seeing Sherlock’s handwriting on a paper, after all these years of waiting for it. He opted to answer anyway, regardless of however upset he was feeling. He reached for another piece of empty parchment from his bedside table and scribbled a response.

**_Sherlock,_ **

**_Saturday’s perfect._ **

**_He missed you too. I can tell._ **

**_John_ **

He reached up to Gladstone with the note, an apologetic look in his eyes. “Sorry buddy, last one tonight I promise”

Gladstone flapped his wings in what seemed to be a shrug and took the letter with him, back into the night, where Sherlock waited in front of his own bedroom window, anxiously.

….

 

The next day, Friday, John walked into Divination quietly beside Greg and Molly. Greg had tried to rope him into the conversation a couple of times but after failing to make John so much as answer more than monosyllabic answer Molly had nudged him in the ribs and given him a pointed look.

John couldn’t really say what had him feeling so down. Sure, it was everything he’d felt last night with Sherlock’s returned note. But he thought it’d just been the darkness of midnight enhancing his emotions, the dismissive quality of Sherlock’s response. But now he was also feeling a sense of loss as he finally accepted that perhaps his friendship with Sherlock really HAD ended 5 years ago.

Molly peered at him curiously, “John? Are you uh… are you sitting with Sherlock today? Like uh… like last week? Or-?”

John opened his mouth to respond… with something, but a voice interrupted him.

“Yeah, he can sit with me. Right, John?”

John turned to face a very nervous looking Sherlock Holmes, a shy smile pulling at his lips.

“Oh. Uh- yeah. Sure” _Damn._ John couldn’t resist one last shot at it. Damn his dignity. If Sherlock wanted to sit with him that had to mean something, right? Unless it was pity? It didn’t look like it though. John cursed inwardly. Why was this so difficult?

They sat at what had become their usual table for the last couple of weeks, only this time the red mantle on the circular table wasn’t empty. Two crystals globes filled with a swirling pearly white mist stood on opposite sides of the table, where Sherlock and John took their seats. John avoided Sherlock’s eyes as he sat down, trying to calm his anxious breathing and act normal. Of course, he failed miserably.

“Are you alright, John?” Sherlock asked, frowning.

“Yup. Perfectly fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sherlock blinked “…okay.” He didn’t sound convinced, but thankfully, he let it go. “So… guess we’re gazing into our futures today, huh?” Sherlock joked feebly, nodding to the crystal balls in front of them.

“Heh…. I guess so” John smiled. Sherlock smiled hesitantly back, wanting things to be okay between them. What had gone wrong in the last 12 hours since they’d spoken? Granted, he hadn’t actually _seen_ John’s face last night when he sent the note... but Sherlock thought he’d sounded fine. He definitely hadn’t seemed so... forlorn.  Sherlock bit his lip, trying to find something to say. But John beat him to it.

“Can you see anything?”

Sherlock peered into the mist before him and watched it revolving and twisting in lazy circles. He got closer, trying to distinguish shapes or any kind of figure through it. Nothing. But then-

A flash of gold.

A pair of blue eyes gazing at him.

Was that… was that John? He blinked but the image was gone.

“Did you see something?” John asked.

“No,” Sherlock murmured. It must’ve been John’s reflection on the crystal. Why would he see John in his future, anyway? “You?” he asked.

John looked up from his own globe, shrugging, “No”. He blamed the flash of wild dark curls he might’ve seen on the lack of sleep. Or maybe the dreams that he’d had. All full of Sherlock.

“WELCOME WELCOME, TO ANOTHER DIVINATION CLASS! Today my dears… we’ll gaze INTO OUR FUTURES!” Professor Trelawney exclaimed, waving her hands around excitedly and gazing at them with her huge bug-like blue eyes through her rounded spectacles.

John smiled at the enthusiasm. Who knows, maybe Trelawney could tell him what the hell he should do next.

…

The hour passed sluggishly, Professor Trelawney went around the classroom trying to teach everyone how to decipher the figures in the mist and translate them into predictions. So far, no one aside from Molly had been successful at distinguishing anything in the fog. Then again, judging by hers and Greg’s giggles maybe she’d only pretended to see something.

“SO! What do we have here, my dears?” Trelawney asked, clutching both hands together and peering excitedly at Sherlock’s and John’s crystals globes. “Have we seen anything interesting yet? Hmm?”

“Nothing yet,” John said.

Sherlock nodded in agreement.

Trelawney stepped closer to Sherlock and leant in to watch the mist on his globe. “Oh, my! Oh, my goodness… my dear!”

 _Here we go_ … Sherlock rolled his eyes. “What? Is it an untimely horrible death? A ghastly murder?” some laughter was heard from the rest of the students, John included, though he tried to mask it as a very strange sounding cough. Sherlock shot him a wink.

“No, my darling! Why would you even think that!” Trelawney said, pressing a hand to her heart.

Sherlock frowned, Trelawney was making a prediction and it _WASN’T_ about death or some horrible freak accident? Now she had his curiosity. He sat up straighter. John looked at the professor, intrigued as well.

“No no, none of that, my boy. I see _love_. A great passion in your future! Tenderness. Pure adoration. Yes. I see it very clearly”

Snickers could be heard behind the now scarlet coloured shape of Sherlock, mainly coming from the other Beauxbatons in the room.

“ _Romance_? _Holmes_?” Mary snorted quietly “As if. Little freak doesn’t even know what that is!” she laughed.

“Pfff I knew this class was a fraud!” another blue robed student whispered back. They both snickered maliciously.

Sherlock just blushed and stared at the professor incredulously. “I… I don’t-”

“Not far from now dear!” she winked “Quite soon. Quite soon,” she wandered around the room making more outrageous predictions about students at other tables. Sherlock couldn’t stop blinking, couldn’t process what had just happened.

He had expected Trelawney to be a bit of a mess with her predictions. He suspected she _was_ actually capable of predicting the future, but only in sporadic strokes of luck. He, however, had expected her to make the predictions she was KNOWN to make: prophecies of danger and unsightly death to scare her students and make her seem more impressive. This… _this_ he had not expected. Romance. HIM? What a ridiculous notion. As if anyone in their right mind could possibly entertain the possibility of spending time with him. Let alone love him. How could it happen? When he couldn’t even make friends!

 Now that the shock was wearing off of the Beauxbatons, he turned to John, wanting to share a moment of shared incredulity with him so they could both shrug off the ridiculousness of that prophecy with a laugh. There was no other way to react, really.

But John wasn’t looking at him. In fact, he appeared to be avoiding his eyes determinedly. And he looked angry. Very very angry. Sherlock frowned. That reaction didn’t make any sense. Why would John be angry at Trelawney’s prediction? Perhaps he’d wanted love for his own? Or…. Did he not like the idea of Sherlock meeting someone? But that didn’t make any sense…

The bell rang, signalling for the ending of the class, incidentally the last class of the day. Since it was Friday, he and John were set to go to the Quidditch field for some practice. Assuming they were still up for it? Sherlock swung his bag across his shoulder and started following John, who still wouldn’t meet his eye, out of the room when Trelawney called them back.

“You! My boy!”

They both turned. She was staring right at John. The Gryffindor frowned, “Me?”.

Trelawney nodded grimly, her lips pulled into an ugly scowl “You. Are in grave danger!”

John sighed, almost in relief. “Right umm… I’ll take care alright?”.

Trelawney opened her mouth, perhaps to say something else about this supposed danger John was in, but the blonde just kept on walking towards the exit. Sherlock turned to one of the globes as he passed near one of the tables, something catching his eye, some kind of movement. A flash of red robes zooming past. A lock of blonde hair. And was that… a crunch he’d just heard? Sherlock shook his head, shaking himself out of it.

“Coming?”, John asked, from the door. “I still have to beat your arse again at Quidditch”. He smiled softly, revealing a trace of the John Sherlock remembered. Though a commotion of emotions was still fighting to take over under his blue eyes.

Sherlock nodded eagerly, wanting nothing more than for things to go back to normal between them. Like when they were kids… but he wasn’t sure how to go about it. “Sure,” he said, smiling back. This, at least, was a start.

….

Practice definitely helped. John relaxed after a couple of minutes in the air and by the second goal, he scored he was back to his joking, grinning self. Sherlock could not be more relieved. As usual, they played until the sun began to set. Sherlock was getting better and better at deducing John’s movement and plays, and could now block John’s shots with much more ease, as well as score a few of his own. John was still winning for now. But not by that much anymore.

“Soon enough you’ll be begging ME to give you mercy!” Sherlock laughed as they walked back to the castle under the red-orange light of the sky.

“You WISH! By the end of the month, I’ll have you begging for mercy. TWICE” John grinned.

“I’ve never begged for mercy in my life!”

“Twice” John assured him, clicking his fingers.

Soon enough, they reached the top of the hill and were faced with the entrance to the castle. John knew he would be heading to the right wing towards the Gryffindor common room, and Sherlock would most likely wander off to… wherever he went to after hours. Sherlock caught a flash of the same turmoil of emotion he’d glimpsed in John’s eyes earlier that day.

 “Well, I guess we’re going our separate ways now, huh?” John sighed. “I’ll see you…. tomorrow I guess”. This was it. Again. Going to divination. Playing Quidditch. That’s all the interaction he’d get out of Sherlock.

Sherlock watched him take a couple of steps away from him and panicked.  “John!” he shouted out unthinkingly. Suddenly, the thought of not seeing John for the rest of the day was somehow painful. And the look on John’s face… it was almost like he DIDN’T want them to be apart either. Like… he _wanted_ to spend time with Sherlock. Could it be? Sherlock thought it unlikely but unable to stop himself he blurted out, “Wait! Would you sneak into the greenhouse with me?”.

“What?” John turned to him wide-eyed and confused. “Why?”

“I have an experiment.” Sherlock said quickly, “I need a sample of ‘devil snare’ and I asked professor Longbottom for some, but he wouldn’t let me cut it without an official authorization. Even if I tried to get it  I wouldn’t for at least a couple of weeks. Besides… rules are dull”. It wasn’t an outright lie. He _did_ have an experiment. And he _had_ asked professor Longbottom for a sample. But he had also already asked him for an authorization form. And he’d already filled it out. But it was the only thing he could think of. And… sneaking into the Greenhouse with John held some sort of appeal. Some edge of danger... and something about being alone with the blonde in the darkness of the greenhouse gave him a strange sense of enticement he couldn’t quite place.

“And what do you need me there for?” John asked, still puzzled. But Sherlock could see a glimmer of delight glinting behind his ocean blue eyes. There was no doubt that he was at least intrigued by the thought of sneaking in somewhere after hours when they were already supposed to be in their own dormitories... and every passing second would make it harder for them to sneak past Filch and Peeves. Not to mention, the later it was… the larger the punishment would be if they were caught. John looked like he’d just been _DARED_. He just needed that last little push to give in.

Sherlock shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “A lookout would be very helpful, and..” he hesitated “I like your company”.

For the first time all day, John smiled his beautiful, _real_ and fond smile. The one that reached his eyes and scrunched up his brow. Sherlock was beginning to realise how much he liked that particular smile when it was directed at him.

“Alright,” John nodded. “Let’s do it”.

…

They left their brooms and the box of Quidditch balls hidden under some bushes just outside the castle’s entrance and headed in. They walked as casually as they could towards the greenhouse and Sherlock opened the door discreetly with a soft whisper of “Alohomora”. He locked it back with a couple of charms once they were in.

The greenhouse was completely pitch black. John reached for his wand but Sherlock stopped him. “Don’t,” he said. He came close and whispered into John’s ear, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s already dark outside and we’re supposed to be in our beds. Peeves or Filch could see the light.” His warm breaths of air grazed John’s neck softly and John tried his best not to shiver. Sherlock didn’t seem to notice. “Just… let your eyes adjust,” he breathed.

John’s own breath hitched as he opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He settled with a nod. Sherlock nodded back and proceeded to walk around the room, inspecting the plants. John watched him go for a moment, shaking himself out of his temporary trance. What was going ON with him?

Walking around the room, John realised how freaky the greenhouse really was. A couple of pots with ‘screechsnaps’ was squirming around humming softly as if singing themselves a lullaby. Right next to that there was a giant plant that with closer observation John was quite sure was covered in… teeth? He steered clear out of that one.

“John!” Sherlock called out softly. “Come here!”

 

The blonde hurried over, trying hard not to make noise, less he attract Filch’s attention, or worse, that toothy plant over in the corner. “What is it?” John came and stooped down next to the Beauxbatons.

“Newborn mandrakes John! They have amazing magical qualities! They grow at alarming rates so finding them at this stage is really quite rare,” he peered into the pot, enthralled. “Maybe if I just…” he reached over to the tips of the leaves peeking out of the dark soil.

“No! Sherlock wait!” John hissed. “Aren’t mandrakes pretty much deadly? We don’t have earmuffs!”

“They’re babies, John,” Sherlock said. “They’re not even strong enough to make us faint.”

“Still! I don’t think we should be-“

Too late, Sherlock was already pulling on the stems and yanking out what looked to be a very ugly turnip-looking baby. There was at least one second where John was relieved by the static silence around them before it started. The screeching.

Sherlock almost dropped the baby mandrake in shock, which made the creature wail even louder.

They both turned to look at each other in horror. “SHERLOCK! YOU'RE GOING TO WAKE UP THE ENTIRE CASTLE! DO SOMETHING!”

Sherlock nodded wildly, dunking the Mandrake back into the pot and covering it with soil as frantically as he could. The screeching didn’t stop. “Oh god oh god oh god” Sherlock muttered.

They suddenly heard frenzied footsteps coming down from the hallway, from far away.

“CHRIST. Sherlock!” John stood up trying to see if there was any other way out of the room. He couldn’t see anything.

“The devil snare!” Sherlock suddenly hissed. “It’s right here!

  
“Are you serious?!” John waved his hands around towards the sound of the fast approaching footsteps.

“WHO’S IN THERE!” they heard Filch shout. The light from his lantern was already reflecting on the frosted glass and illuminating them both in soft yellow light.

“Just. Give me a minute!” Sherlock hurriedly took a small pair of hedge clippers that were laying around and proceeded to cut pieces of the devil snare.

“No Sherlock we need to go!” he reached over to the Beauxbatons and tried to pry the clippers away from him, but one of the cut devil snare limbs tied around his and Sherlock’s wrists.

“SHITE!” John hissed. Sherlock dropped the clippers and the strand of devil snare tightened around both of their wrists, tying them together. “What do we do now?” John yelped.

Sherlock’s eyes were wide and nervous. “Okay.. okay.. the more we move the tighter it's gonna get”. He took the clippers with his other hand and did her best to cut them free, but the dark plant limb seemed to hiss and tightened around them.

“Stopstopstop! You’re gonna cut off our circulation!”

“Alright alright. Let’s get moving then. I’m pretty sure there’s a hidden door under all those vines over there. Come on!”

He started off towards the back of the room, John closely behind him, trying hard to keep up with Sherlock’s massive steps _. Damn wanker with those never ending legs_ , John thought.

“Oh my god is that a Dittany plant?! Wait!” Sherlock yanked himself backwards, pulling against John and the vine constricted painfully.

“ARGH! Sherlock!”

“Sorry sorry…. This isn’t working.” He stopped and looked at their hands, pressed back to back by the vine. Sherlock knew he’d be able to get rid of the devil snare with a simple light enchantment, but Filch was coming and although he suspected there was someone in here, that was no reason to give him a confirmation. They’d be followed. “We need to figure out something. It’s going to crush our hands if we keep going” Sherlock muttered.

The door started banging loudly. “I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE! JUST YOU WAIT TILL I GET THIS OPEN” Filch screamed.

John looked down at their hands. He could think of a very logical way of decreasing the amount of space between their hands and pull each other more efficiently. But even the thought of suggesting–

“Take my hand” Sherlock whispered.

“W-what?”

“Come on John!”. Suddenly John felt Sherlock’s fingers lacing onto his, easily slipping through the gaps between John’s fingers and curling. His hand was surprisingly warm and John felt the warmth dissipate within him. The Gryffindor swallowed and tightened his hold on Sherlock’s hand.

He looked up and their eyes met. Time stopped for about a second as John tried to convince his heart to stop hammering, convinces Sherlock could feel it through his palm.

Sherlock, in turn, was grateful they were still immersed in darkness as he felt the heat crawl up his neck to pool in his cheeks.

But just as John was building himself up to say something, anything really, Sherlock tugged and they were running again towards the door under the vines. The Beauxbatons tugged it open and they were out of the room, running in the darkened stone hallways away from Filch as fast as they could manage, holding on tight.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they made out. Not really. Soon though. SOOOOOON.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another month of wait.... heh. Sorryyyy.... 
> 
> We're getting so close though!!!!!!!!!!!!

The problem is, he doesn’t know what to do. Or… what to feel, really. So. He likes Sherlock. That is the only rational explanation. There’s no other way to explain his racing heart, the sweating.. his lingering stares. But MERLIN how could he help the staring? When Sherlock had gone from his childhood friend with red chubby cheeks and sizzling lisp to… to this ADONIS carved that looked like a marble sculpture walking. But how to even go about it? When he couldn’t even make himself have a conversation that could potentially be awkward… how could he make a move? Did he even want to make a move? HE was JOHN WATSON. He didn’t date! At least not seriously. He casually flirted and hooked up with people now and then but… he couldn’t see himself doing that with Sherlock.

Sherlock was too important. Even now. He’d just gotten him back and there was no way in hell he would jeopardize that for what might be a cursory crush. Besides… he didn’t even know whether Sherlock was into guys. And if he WAS he couldn’t guarantee that he’d be into HIM. He couldn’t do that do Sherlock or himself now that they were finally starting to reconnect. No.  He wouldn’t make a move. It wouldn’t be god for either of them. There was too much at risk.

He was standing at the window in the Gryffindor common room, watching in the outside grounds as Sherlock walked alongside what was no doubt his Quidditch team towards the pitch. His heart dropped a little in his stomach as he pictures himself walking alongside them, maybe brushing his arm against Sherlock every other step… or even better, holding his hand in his, lacing their fingers together softly.

….

 

**Three weeks later**

 

“Sally you’ve GOT to stop aiming for your own teammate's heads!” John shouted.

“Sorry, Cap! I was just playing around!” she grinned, swinging her bat playfully. Mike, who was rubbing his head with one hand whilst clutching his broom for dear life didn’t look so amused.

“Thanks, Cap” he muttered.

Rolling his eyes, John smirked begrudgingly and swerved away on his broom. Quidditch practice had been going on for at least a couple hours, and although he was giving his team a hard time he rather thought they were doing pretty well. The match against Beauxbatons was tomorrow and they absolutely had to be prepared. He wouldn’t dare lose against them after the teasing he’d given Sherlock last Friday.

 

John smiled, thinking about finally getting to play Quidditch against Sherlock in a more serious setting. He and Sherlock had kept on playing each other every single Friday after class, though lately, John had found it a lot more entertaining to tease Sherlock during it rather than playing just to watch him blush prettily.

 

“What’cha thinking about John?”, asked Greg, flying up to John and hovering close as they watched the rest of their teammates fool around whilst batting bludgers and at each other.

 

“Wh-? Nothing… why?” John said quickly, frowning but avoiding his friend's eyes as best he could.

 

Greg shrugged, “you just have this faraway look on your face”, he said. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and then looked towards the bleachers at the far end of the Quidditch field. He smirked, clearly having found what he was looking for. John pulled away from his friend’s triumphant face and looked to where he was looking.  

 

Sherlock was sitting on the Ravenclaw stands reading a book, cradling it with his long pale fingers. Just as John peered at him from the distance Sherlock looked up from the pages and their eyes met for a split second before the Beauxbatons looked back down as fast as possible. John could just distinguish a slight pink tint on his face.

 

“So... Nothing huh?” Greg scoffed, pushing John lightly on his broom.

 

John rolled his eyes again, fighting off a grin and keeping himself upright as he shoved Greg back. “Let's just get back to practice, alright?” he said, ignoring Greg’s knowing look and already feeling the interrogation that would surely come up soon enough over this over dinner or later in the common room.

 

 “Team!” He shouted, catching their attention instantly. “Let’s stop slacking off and let's play some real Quidditch!” he grinned. A small part of him couldn’t help but want to show off a little bit in front of his curly haired friend.

 

He swerved his broom as high as he could honest room and started shouting instructions as his team zoomed in right beating bloggers and chasing each other in preparation for the game. John tried his best not to pay attention the tingling feeling that someone was staring at him, that _Sherlock_ was staring at him.

 

….

 

“I see your practice went well”

 

John turned quickly, startled. Sherlock was suddenly walking beside him, nose still buried in his book. “What do you say that?” asked John, grinning.

 

“The smug look on your face,” said Sherlock. “Do you really think your team stands a chance against mine?”. He turned a page, seeming disinterested.

 

“Well I _have_ won at every single practice we've had so far!” John teased, bumping Sherlock with his shoulder. He started off towards the massive wooden doors that led to the lake and Sherlock followed, barely noticing the change in direction.

“I took it easy on you.” Sherlock said to the pages of ‘Hogwarts, A History’.  “Besides,” Sherlock finally looked up to meet John’s eyes. “We practiced as Quidditch beaters. You’ve never seen me play seeker”.

“Well, I can’t wait to see that!” John smiled, honestly. He’d been curious to see Sherlock actually playing his own position on the team for ages. Frankly, he was a little more curious to see the Beauxbatons Quitich uniforms, or rather, how Sherlock looked like in his Quidditch uniform. The day of the match really couldn’t come fast enough.

They talked idly about the upcoming match as John led them towards one of the largest willow trees along the lake, one he’d found on his fourth year after getting over his phobia of willow trees when he had had a nasty run-in with the Whomping Willow on his first year here alongside Greg.

Sherlock sat down without question, seeming unsurprised at where John had taken them and John took a seat beside him, resting his back against the scratchy trunk. The cool shade spilled over them, embracing them in a cocoon of soft cold relief from the burning afternoon sun.

As soon as he got comfortable, Sherlock reached into his bag and wordlessly passed John a copy of the year 6 potions book. How he’d known John had a quiz tomorrow without a single mention of John, the Gryffindor had no idea. But he just thanked him fondly and took it from Sherlock’s pale fingers.

They read in comfortable silence for a while. Well, John tried his hardest to read, willing himself not to be distracted by Sherlock’s profile against the afternoon sun. Every once in a while a dry leaf would flutter down from the highest branches and get stuck in the Beauxbaton’s unruly curls and John would have to physically restrain himself from picking out the orange intruder from the soft fluffy locks. It reminded him of that day so many years ago when he’d been twisting purple blooms into his friend’s hair the day he’d gotten magic. How very easy everything had seemed back then. He hadn’t even overthought the implications of anything he ever did around Sherlock. How could he? When they’d been so young and had nothing but trust and affection was between them. Now they were grown up and John… was unsure. He feared over these boundaries the years apart and their age and societal rules had suddenly built between them. He frowned, staring at one of the most offensive leaves in his friend’s hair. It was pointy and long and just short of brushing his pale neck and heck if John didn’t want to curl his fingers in Sherlock’s nape and scoop it out.

So he did.

Without letting himself think about it too much John reached out a hand and with gentle fingers, he tenderly dug them into the back of his friend’s hair and untangled the dry leaf with a weak crackle. After that he moved on to the next, coursing his fingers upwards onto the tangled rolls of soft curls. He picked away at the leaves and soothed the scratches of the dry edges with tender fingertips. Sherlock’s breath hitched in a barely audible gasp and when John was finally brave enough to turn to look at him he had his eyes closed, his neck craned up and towards John’s hand, pushing into the touch. His neck was tinted pink, the blush spreading through to his cheeks and pooling there heavily. His lips were slightly parted in a soundless gasp.

John’s nerves dissipated, leaving a more familiar feeling of smug thrill at having this reaction on someone. “Alright?” he asked.

“Mm- what? Oh um. Y-yes. S’fine” Sherlock blabbered out. He licked his lips.

“You had some leaves in your hair” John murmured, now just essentially just petting the curls. They wove around his fingers and cradled them delicately with every caress.   

“Oh,” Sherlock breathed, sounding like he wasn’t even listening as he focused on the impromptu massage.

John grinned, feeling predatory all of a sudden. He scratched his nails lightly across the Beauxbatons scalp and relished on the muted hitch of breath and the subsequent clearing of the throat. Then, suddenly, John let go. He retreated his hand and returned it to his book. He pretended to read as he felt Sherlock turn his head to stare at him, curiously. John could still see the scarlet blush in Sherlock’s cheeks from the corner of his eye and tried hard to suppress a triumphant grin.

 _‘Perhaps… just perhaps…’,_ John thought, smiling.  

 

…

 

Sherlock swerved past Dimmock, the Beauxbatons chaser, as he caught a glimpse of something golden zoom past on the other side of the field.

It was 12 minutes after the first whistle and Beauxbatons was up by 20 points. The Hogwarts Gryffindor team was proving to be a challenge, but Sherlock was feeling good about their chances. He risked a glance at the Gryffindor seeker, Sarah… something… Astley?, but she was flying laps above the figures of her teammates, oblivious to the snitch fluttering about. Sherlock moved rapidly, but cautiously. Sekeers’ worst mistake was to panic when they saw the tell-tale flash of gold. He wouldn’t speed until he was sure and until he was certain he was close enough not to alert the other Seeker.

He wove past players, zig-zagging his way onto the other side of the pitch. He focused on his surroundings, quickly calculating the speed of the snitch and how much it could’ve moved in the past 30 seconds it took him to get there. He turned around pulling up his broom to get onto a higher level.

Then he caught sight of John.

John Watson was in mid swerve of his bat, hitting a Quaffle with remarkable aim and directly towards the Beauxbatons’ players, Sherlock recognized the surprise on Soo Lin’s face when she tried to bat it back only to have it swerve right past her head and into the center hoop, as he himself was certain he’d made the same expression the first couple of times he played against John. He also recognized the triumph and glee in the Gryffindor’s grin, the dip of his dimples and light shining through his blue irises.

The past couple of days had been... interesting. Sherlock simply couldn’t get his mind stop going back to John’s finger in his hair, his breath so close he could swear he almost felt it against his skin. For a moment he’d wondered what would happen if he turned his head and just… just… just what? Sherlock didn’t know. He’d never done anything like this before and wasn’t John… straight? There was absolutely no evidence pointing to the contrary, and as far as he remembered John had never expressed any kind of crush on any males. Granted, last time he’d seen him with a crush they’d been 11, but he very vividly remembered John expressing something akin to a crush on the ‘Bond girls’ whenever they watched his favourite movies. He also remembered feeling rather resentful of that and not knowing the reason why.

Sherlock bit his lip, remembering John’s shirt riding up during one of their practices, remembering his pink tongue snaking out to wet his lips after Sherlock said something particularly clever… Sherlock’s breath halted and he looked away, blinking fast. What was going _on_ with him? He felt blood pool in his cheeks as he shook his head, reminding himself to focus. The snitch. Yes. Where was the snitch? Gold flashing movement… where was the gold flashing movement… John had golden hair. Quite bright too. It reflected the sunlight with every shake of his head as he bobbed enthusiastically on his broom. Sherlock could JUST make out a couple of sweat droplets rolling down his jaw and onto his tanned neck. Those looked golden too against John’s tanned skin.

_‘NO. Snitch. Find the snitch. Come on.’_

Sherlock took a deep breath, tearing his eyes away from his friend. Finally, he heard the faint buzz of the fast fluttering of the snitch’s wings and snapped his gaze towards it. There. Glinting in the distance the snitch whizzed past. Sherlock grinned, clutching his broom and then caught sight of Sarah Astley, zooming rapidly towards the small golden ball flying away. Sherlock leaned forward hastily, speeding up and rapidly overtaking the Gryffindor. He whooshed past her and ones of the Gryffindor chasers and towards the Ravenclaw stands, where most of the blue robed Beauxbatons stood shouting and cheering for their team.

“There goes the Quaffle and... Watson scores again!” Sherlock heard the voiceover say. It was Henry Knight, a  7th year Hufflepuff student. “Beauxbatons and Gryffindor are tied! And it looks like Holmes and Astley have spotted the snitch! They’re in pursuit, Beauxbaton’s Holmes on the lead Gryffindor’s Astley not far behind.”

Sherlock closed in on the golden sphere inches away from the tip of his broom, he stretched out his hand and… Sarah cut through Sherlock’s path, whooshing past him and sending the snitch flying in a completely different direction. The push forced Sherlock to dodge her by ducking in a dangerously steeped dive. Sarah was taken by surprise by the fast move and almost crashed into Soo Lin, who was focused on something else in the distance, bat at the ready. She lost her balance and dragged Sarah in. A tangle of frantic limbs clutched at the still airborne broom as Sarah’s crashed into the ground.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks as both girls almost fell on top of him. He looked up just in time to see the snitch fluttering frenziedly beside his neck and he clutched at it, holding it tight in his fist. As he heard the high-pitched whistle sound, one of Soo Lin’s legs accidentally kicked him and he lost balance.

“SHERLOCK!”

The Beauxbaton just had the chance to swerve around to see a whooshing bludger Soo Lin had most likely been aiming for moments ago rocketing in his direction. His eyes widened in horror as he froze on the spot.

 And then time stopped.

A blur of red and golden robes zoomed in front of him, pushing him harshly out of the way as the Gryffindor boy tried to bat the bludger away from him, but the momentum of the push didn’t give him enough time and the bludger crashed into the Gryffindors’ side with a loud crunch.

Sherlock’s heart stopped, his arm yanked out into the air, trying mindlessly to catch the boy as he fell unconscious from his broom. Sherlock watched helplessly as the Gryffindor boy fell further and further from him and closer to the ground.

Time started again and in his panic, Sherlock forgot about the wand tucked away in his Quidditch robes, he forgot about the Golden Snitch clutched in his fist as he let it out and dove down briskly, arm outstretched and ready to catch John Watson as he fell.

 

…..

 

 

“You idiot.”

“Huh?” Sherlock looked up blearily, disoriented. He’d been sitting next to John’s bed since he’d been brought, still unconscious, about 7 hours ago. He’d been almost falling asleep until John had spoken.

“I said you’re an idiot” John smiled, pain still lingering in the edges, but fondness seeping into every corner.

Sherlock snorted, of course, the first thing John would say after 7 freaking hours of being UNCONSCIOUS would be some sort of joke. “You’re the one who got hit by a BLUDGER!”

“By SAVING your idiot arse!” John laughed, and then immediately winced in pain.

Sherlock’s smile faded. “Are you…” he spoke softly “Are you alright? I was... I” he bit his lip, unable to get the words out.

John smiled again, the fondness returning with full light to his eyes. “You were worried?” he didn’t sound teasing, for once, he sounded genuine, so Sherlock nodded, still unable to meet his eye.

“When you were hit… when you fell. I don’t know. I couldn’t... I was scared”

“I’m fine” John assured him. “They’re just ghost pains now. I’ve had them before... not my first fall in a match I’m ashamed to admit”. He tried to laugh but stopped mid-way with a grimace. “So…How bad was it?”

“Broken arm. 3 broken ribs. Concussion. I’m afraid that whilst I did stop the fall I might’ve smashed us both into the bottom of the Ravenclaw post…” Sherlock said with a weak smile.

“You stopped my fall?” John said, eyes wide with wonder. Sherlock nodded again, a single dip of his head. John’s smile grew impossibly bigger, filling with so much happiness and it was as if a dam was suddenly broken and so many feelings Sherlock had known he was holding back spilled though the light in his eyes. He saw so much joy. And trust. Finally, so much trust.

Sherlock smiled back, so relieved at having his John back. The John he’d left at the Hogwarts train station 5 years ago. But something nagged at the back of his mind, “Why did you do it, John?”

John’s expression became confused. “Why did I what?”

“Stopped the bludger. Got yourself hurt.”

John frowned now, even more confused.  “Sherlock” his voice had gone soft “You really don’t know why I did it? Why I couldn’t let you get hurt?”. His gaze on Sherlock’s was so intense the Beauxbatons wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. There was so much in that look. So much unspoken pressure upon them. SO many conversations he knew they still had to have.  Sherlock felt the tension, the one he’d been feeling around John for weeks now. Weeks and weeks of unspoken things shimmering like an electric barrier between them.

The urge to reach out for John, to feel the warmth of his skin was overwhelming. But surely John didn’t feel like this too… not that way Sherlock did.  

“No..” he murmurs, truthfully. After everything that had happened Sherlock had absolutely no idea how John could’ve forgiven him so easily. How he would’ve put his safety in harm's way just for him! Why would anyone do that? And it wasn’t the first time he’d done it either! John had saved him from Anderson just a couple of months ago!

“You don’t know why I wouldn’t want you to get hurt? Why… why I would rather _I_ got hurt instead of you?” John murmured, brow scrunched forlornly. He reached out a tentative head and laid it next to where Sherlock’s rested on the mattress.

Sherlock bit his lip, his heart thundering against his chest. He couldn’t say anything, afraid he’d be wrong or had somehow misunderstood. Because somehow it sounded like John… like John meant that…. It couldn’t be that he actually meant to sound like he... Sherlock cleared his throat, saying the first words that came to mind, “because… because you're an idiot?”.

That startled John into a laugh. The tension broke completely as John’s entire body shook with laughter. Sherlock giggled back, not sure if he’s glad for the rupture of the fragile tension they'd been enveloped in or not.  

 “What are you thinking about winter break?” John said suddenly.

“Winter break? It’s like a month away”

“Still…” John shifted against the bed, feeling its soft surface slide against his back. “Are you gonna go... home? Or are you staying here?”

Sherlock looked at John thoughtfully. “I… hadn’t really thought about it. Why?”

“Well... I’m staying... so maybe I thought we could-”

“Okay,” Sherlock said quickly. He hadn’t meant to be so abrupt but he couldn’t pass up the chance. He had actually been considering staying for the winter break anyway… wanting to stay in Hogwarts for as long as he possibly could before the Beauxbatons castle was inevitably rid of the infestation of spiders. He wasn’t looking forwards to going back there. And a full month here… with John. How could anyone, WHY would anyone pass up on that opportunity?

“Wait- okay? So you’ll stay with me?” John sounded so hopeful, so disbelieving. Sherlock simply had to look up and see all the doubt and hesitation, the anticipation and beginnings of delight forming. He nodded again, more confident this time.

“Y-yes. That’s what I just said, John” he muttered softly. His voice still had a slight waver and faux confidence he hoped John wouldn’t detect.

John laughed “Hey don’t be cheeky I did just save you from a bludger. I deserve the best treatment!”

“Well, _I_ won the match so- if anyone should be rewarded it’s me” Sherlock argued.

“Um? I was too distracted by the bludger about to _kill_ you. I could’ve TOTALLY caught the snitch!” John grinned.

“You’re not the seeker!”

John looked at him seriously, “I could be the seeker”.

“You’re ridiculous” Sherlock giggled

“You love it”

 _'I do'_ Sherlock thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you feel the loooove tonight?? It is ALMOST where we aaare...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll answer last chapter's comments tomorrow morning. I just needed to post this asap. Because.... reasons. Exciting reasons. You'll see ;) I hope you enjoy this long chapter! (Seriously long. It's about 2 and a half times the size of my normal chapters- hence the long wait for it) <3<3

Much later that night John headed back to his room. Sherlock headed back to his own temporary common room with the Ravenclaws, though not before they both shared a charged goodbye that left John in something not unlike a trance throughout the entire walk to the Gryffindor common room.

If he’d been hoping for a few minutes alone to go over the entire evening and its endless possible implications well… he’d been sadly wrong. As soon as he mumbled the newest password to the Fat Lady (“hound”), and he’d stepped into the orange warmth of the familiar room draped in Gryffindor colours he was practically tackled by two vociferous bodies.

“John! Oh my goodness, we were so worried!”

“We went to the hospital wing but Madam Pomfrey said one visitor at a time and you already had someone there and-”

“we didn’t know what to do or who to talk to and when Greg demanded-“

“I ASKED her nicely, how long it’d be-“

“Nicely? You basically shone a light in her eyes and threatened to sue or something!”

“ _Sue_? What in the bloody Merlin is that?”

“Sort of like when there is a trial at the ministry but-“Molly shook her head, dismissing that trail of thought, “Muggle thing Greg, it doesn’t matter. The POINT here is… John. Are you okay?”

John just stared at them for a couple of seconds before he burst out chuckling. “Geez, guys. I’m alright! Minor injuries at best. Nothing to worry about” he smiled at them though, appreciating how much his friends had worried about him and feeling rather touched.

“Good,” smiled Molly. “It was just… not a pretty sight. That ball hit you square in the ribs and damn… that crunch…” she shivered. “Not cool”.

Greg nodded alongside her. “Yeah mate, I was all the way across from the pitch and man… that was a nasty fall. I flew as fast as a could but Sherlock caught you first,” he smiled. “I like that bloke, John. He’s a keeper. I mean. Not literally. Cause y’know. He’s a Seeker. But. Y’know what I mean.”

John rolled his eyes. “I know I know… but it’s not like that guys. I mean. We’re not. He’s not…”

Greg rose a sceptical brow “Wait. Are you seriously telling me that John Watson...  _Three_  houses-“

“I don’t actually want to be known as-“

“THREE. HOUSES. WATSON.” Greg said loudly, “is at a loss when faced with a potential conquest?!” he pressed his palm to his heart, not unlike a fairy tale damsel in distress.

“I’m not at a LOSS! I’m just… he doesn’t. I mean we don’t- we’re not like that. I don’t even know if he’d be into me like that is what I mean.” John shrugged miserably.

Greg opened his mouth again, no doubt to spew some grand speech about John’s legendary flirtatious abilities as if it would magically change everything but thankfully, Molly stepped in. “John. You say you’re not like that but- it sounds like you  _do_ like him? Like that?”

“Well. I- I mean. I- “

Molly gave him a pointed look.

“Fine. Yes. I like him. Happy?”  


“Happy?” Molly grinned. “I’m over the moon! This is the first time I’ve ever heard you express ACTUAL romantic feelings for another person! Not just  _attraction_! OF COURSE, I’m happy! Also. I told you so.” She grinned triumphantly.

John was about to protest but Molly’s happiness was too contagious and for the first time in these past months after having to swallow up these bubbling feelings and repressing all this emotion… John just finally let it out. He beamed, feeling a blissful bubble burst in his chest, surging up with warmth. He allowed this all-encompassing emotion fill him up from head to toe as it fluttered through his chest, holding a familiar sense comfort.

 How could he have not seen what he felt for Sherlock all along? For how  _long_  had he been even feeling like this? He felt like he had recognised that the hole that had been carved in his chest had just been aching for Sherlock all these years... and not just Sherlock’s company. Not just his presence. He’d been aching  _for_  him. To hold him. To have him….

He didn’t remember not feeling like Sherlock wasn’t something absolutely necessary in his life. Even when they’d been apart… those long summers were never far from John’s mind.  _Sherlock_  was never far.

Molly beamed right back, practically jumping out of her skin in excitement. “This is so great, John!”

Greg nodded “It is! You’ve finally noticed that you have feelings for him! Took you long enough!”

John laughed “What?! As if you knew!”

“Mate, I’ve known you were head over heels for this guy since the first time you told me about him.”

“We were eleven, Greg,” John said raising a sceptical brow.

Greg just shrugged, “love has no age, brah”.

John laughed. Because perhaps it didn’t. Perhaps John really  _had_  known all along. Took him long enough to figure it out. Sherlock might be right… he probably WAS an idiot. But now the question was... did Sherlock feel the same? John wasn’t so sure that he did or didn’t. Either way, he thought, still bantering about it with his friends, no harm in some innocent flirting… a tease then and there... a brush of an arm… And John didn’t like to brag but Greg was right. He was pretty damn good at it.

 

…..

 

“Hey, you,” John said cheerfully, as he took a seat next to Sherlock. He sat just a teensy bit closer than necessary, but really who was going to blame him when he found the gorgeous Beauxbatons sitting in the Gryffindor breakfast table, clearly waiting for him.

Sherlock hummed an answer, too focused on whatever was in front of him. But when John realised that instead of a plate or food in front of him, Sherlock had a bowl sized cauldrons, which he was currently stirring with his wand as it turned a pearly pink.

“That’s… what is that exactly?” John asked, as he set his bag-pack under his seat and reached for some waffles from the spread of food in front of him on the table.

“Potion. Experiment I’m working on”

John peered closer. “Doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen in class so far” he observed, curiously.

“It’s not. I’m making it up.” Sherlock explained, eyes still glued to the viscous pink liquid.

“Just saying, Sherlock? That looks suspiciously like a liquid muggles take when they’re stomach sick” John said, eyebrows high on his forehead and face scrunched up in distaste.

“Muggles have potions? You hadn’t mentioned this before”

“Not potions. Just regular old medicine. What’s your potion for, anyway?” John tried to come closer but the fumes coming out of the small black pot were rather unpleasant and he instantly recoiled. “Eurgh! Sherlock! Seriously, what the hell is that?”

“It’s not done yet. But in the next 10 minutes, it’ll be a fully functioning tranquillizer draught. Nothing to worry about, John. I’ve done this before. It is perfectly safe.”

John didn’t look so convinced. “What do you even need a tranquillizer draught for?”

“Thinking. It’s a substitute of nicotine patches. I used to nick those from my muggle-born herbology professor back at Beauxbatons. He found out eventually and I haven’t been able to get any since. So I made my own substitute”.

John opened his mouth to answer when they heard a voice coming towards them. “Hey, John! Sherlock!” Molly waved. She hurried over to the Gryffindor table and sat across from them, setting her large Ancient Runes book on the table with a soft thump. “You guys ready for winter finals? I seriously can’t wait for this break.”

“Me either,” said John, discreetly pressing his thigh against Sherlock’s. The Beauxbatons stiffened momentarily in surprise before pressing back shyly. He kept stirring his potion, absolutely not meeting John’s eye when he answered Molly. “I have no need to study for finals. Most teachers just take their information from the middle pages of each chapter, as memory experiments have suggested that the human brain retains the first and the last pieces of information given. Teachers tend to, therefore, pick things that we are most likely to forget in a feeble attempt to make their exams more difficult, and thus, be perceived as harder and more important subjects than they really are.”

“Brilliant,” John murmured.

Molly stared at them both and just quietly wondered to herself how on earth were they not dating yet.

Sherlock potion has just begun to turn the apparently desired pearly white-lilac when suddenly hoots and flaps of wings could be heard from above.

“Oh! Mail time!” Molly grinned. She scoured the birds hovering above them through the magical replica of the morning sky outside looking for hers. It was almost cloudless and a deep soft blue. A parchment was dropped right in front of her plate and she dove for it, tearing of the seal and reaching into the inside of the envelope. “YES!” she exclaimed.

John peered at her curiously. “What’s up, Molly? Good news?”

“Better” she grinned and turned over the small piece of card paper. It was a picture of a cat. A chubby fluffy orange cat sitting on top of a puffy blue cushion. “It’s pictures of Toby! I miss him so much! I wanted to bring him here but he doesn’t like it when there are many people around. And he’s very used to living in our house so... he just stayed there but-” she sighed. “He’s everything”.

Sherlock smiled “I understand. I have a dog”

“You do?” John asked, surprised. “How come I didn't know that?”

“Well, we got him about a year ago. When we weren’t... well.”  
“Right,” John said. A few awkward seconds passed before John broke the silence again, determined not to let this ruin how perfectly breakfast was going. “So what’s his name?”

“Redbeard”.

“As in… your nickname when we played pirates?” John grinned. “That's brilliant! I want to meet him”. 

“Oh… I’d- yeah. I- I’d like that” Sherlock smiled. John smiled back softly, wondering if tucking that stubborn curl behind Sherlock’s ear would be alright with the Beauxbatons and almost raising his hand to do just that when just that second a small envelope dropped in front of Sherlock with a smack.

Sherlock startled back in surprise, tearing his gaze away from John onto the thin white envelope. “That’s… unexpected. I don’t usually get… hmm”

He picked up the letter and, turning it over, examined the address line. His shoulders relaxed, clearly having recognised the sender. John peered discreetly only to see a very familiar name jump up at him ‘Violet Holmes’.

“Violet! I haven’t spoken to her in so long! That’s so sweet of her to write! Open it!”

Sherlock didn’t look quite as enthusiastic. “She never sends letters by themselves. She usually sends them with packages…”. He looked at the seal sceptically before he tore it open and took out the letter. It wasn’t very long, just a single page. Sherlock swept his eyes over it rapidly, his face blanching with every word he read, his lips purse tightly and his fist clenched against the table. Without looking at either John, not Molly he stood from the table, picked up his tiny cauldron with the finished tranquillizer potion and downed it in one gulp and stormed away from the great hall.

“What just happened?” asked Molly, perplexed and staring after Sherlock.

“No idea,” John said, already standing up and wiping the remnants of his toast with the back of his hand. “I’ll be… right back. Maybe” he murmured and stood up to follow Sherlock. The time for unspoken things was done. And John was going to be there for Sherlock whether he wanted to or not. Clearly whatever was on that letter was not good. And there was no way in hell John was going to let his friend suffer about it all alone.

“Sherlock! Wait!”. John rushed up to his friend who, miracles of miracles, had actually stopped at the sound of John’s voice. As soon as he reached him he stepped in front of him, watching him carefully. Sherlock’s eyes were closed tightly, the letter still held firmly in his fist getting more and more crumpled by the second. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”

Sherlock took a deep breath, willing himself to open his eyes and look at John. His eyes were glazed over and whilst he still didn’t meet John’s eye, he handed over the letter to the Gryffindor. John nodded, as silent thanks, and began to read the letter. Instantly, his blood froze over.

_Dearest Sherlock,_

_I hope you’re doing well and you’re enjoying your time at Hogwarts. I read your last letter and it sounds like you and John are having a wonderful time. Please give him my love and best wishes._

_I have to be honest with you, my darling. Your father has come back and has asked for forgiveness. I know how you feel about him but he has promised this time around will be different. He moved back into our house a couple of weeks ago. He’s your father and I have decided to give him another chance. We both hope that you will too._

_Love,_

_Mom._

John’s heart stopped. Sherlock had told him a couple of weeks ago how just short of a year ago his father had run off with a younger woman he met at one of his business trips. It wasn’t his first affair with another woman, as Sherlock and Mycroft had known, but it was the first his mother had found out about. And she had been absolutely crushed.

“Oh, Sherlock…” he didn’t even know where to start. He  _hated_  Sherringford. And he knew very well that Sherlock hated him too. John was sure that the few instances he’d seen of the verbal and almost physical abuse he’d inflicted on his family had not been rare occurrences. And he was sure that his young mind had most likely not even processed a lot more occasions where he had been the bastard he is. He couldn’t even start to imagine how Sherlock must be feeling about this. About the man who was solely responsible for his not going to Hogwarts, the place he had dreamed of for all his life, and what’s more, for his mother’s suffering.  “I’m so sorry… there must be something we can do. Or Mycroft. Maybe we can talk her out of it”

Sherlock shook his head sadly. “She won't listen to us. Never has. We’ve had a lot of financial troubles since he left. He made sure all his contacts never hired her and spread rumours about her having bad work ethic. It's disgusting. He feels like he owns her. Like he owns us. And my mother. She waits on his hand and foot. He has absolutely destroyed her sense of self-worth and- and. After everything, he’s done. To her. To me. He kept things from me, John. He kept- he… I can’t. I can’t talk about it right now. He… You.” Sherlock swallowed heavily, his eyes blinking rapidly as to avoid any wetness from leaking out. John did the only thing he could think of and pulled Sherlock in by the waist into a hug.

Sherlock’s body collided gently with John’s own and their chests pressed together as John buried his head in Sherlock’s neck, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he felt the taller boy relax against him and slowly reach for him back and wrap his arms around John’s neck. “John… I- I”

“Shh… It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You can tell me later if you like. Or not. But I promise we’ll figure this out okay?”

Sherlock nodded slowly, his chin rubbing gently against John’s short soft hair. “Okay... okay. Thank you”

“Come on.  You want to go walk around or something?”

“I think we have divination soon, John”

“Let’s skip it. I think we could both use without the fatal predictions for now.”

Sherlock laughed softly. “Okay. Alright. Let’s walk”.

…

Sherlock couldn’t stop staring at John.

They had walked for hours around the Hogwarts gardens and a couple more within its maze-like halls and only managed to get lost twice. Quite an accomplishment.  They’d talked about Sherlock’s mother and what had happened to them during the years he and John hadn’t been in touch. Sherlock left things out, naturally. Things he still wasn’t ready to talk about without going into  _other_  things. The last thing he wanted to do was show John how insecure he was about the bond they were slowly forming again. He was so scared he would somehow break it… again. After having barely survived all those years without John, he didn’t know what he would do if it happened all over again. And if John knew… if he  _knew_  how Sherlock felt. They would never recover.

Because Sherlock  _did_  want to be John’s friend. More than anything he wanted that. But he wanted so much more too. He’d known for a while. Since before he and John had been in touch again, even. But now that John was here again, boyish round face chiselled into a manly, teenage boy’s rugged handsomeness, Sherlock had damn near got all his breath knocked out of his when he saw him sitting at the Gryffindor table that very first day he’d arrived.

John had been so amazing today. He’d listened when Sherlock talked about his parents and his brother and hadn’t pushed him for information or treated him with pity. They’d eventually moved on to other topics and the mood had lightened significantly under the bright sun and chilly late autumn air. John had enchanted a light snowfall around Sherlock as the latter discussed his theory on the properties of double core wands and Sherlock had spluttered as a small snowflake drifted in front of him and into his mouth. John had laughed as Sherlock shook his head and sent freezing flakes in all directions whilst cursing John vivaciously.

Sherlock had stared. And John had stared right back.

Sherlock had looked away first, feeling his entire body heating up faster than he thought was even possible. And when he’d looked back John had been gazing into the lake, a small smug smile on his face. The Beauxbatons had been sure John had known Sherlock was staring at him but for some reason… he’d let him look.

Eventually, it got dark enough that they decided to go back indoors. However, instead of heading back to their own common rooms, they silently agreed to finally explore the restricted section in the library Sherlock had promised to show John.

They main library was already locked up so they quietly whispered an ‘Alohomora’ charm, made sure the librarian had definitely left the premises, and snuck into the darkened halls of the massive library. Already John felt his heart race with the promise of danger that came with breaking the rules. How had he never even thought about doing this before tonight? Sure he, Greg and Molly had not exactly STUCK to the rules in previous years, but aside from a few rather terrifying trips to the forbidden forest with his friends and a rather embarrassing encounter with Moaning Myrtle on a couple of his make out sessions with one of his ex-flings John had never really done anything after curfew.

They reached the metal gates that led to the restricted section and found that a single ‘Alohomora’ charm wasn’t enough. Clearly one of the library staff had noticed someone had broken in, after Sherlock had, about a month ago. Sherlock fiddled with a couple other charms whilst John looked out for Filch or Mrs Norris. The library sure was quiet at night, John thought. All he could really hear was his and Sherlock’s breathing and the quiet murmurs coming out of Sherlock’s mouth as he attempted to break the spells binding the gates shut.

He turned to watch his friend work. His wild curls fanned over his face as he crouched over the biggest padlock on the heavy chains. His lips moved swiftly, murmuring incantation after incantation. John licked his own lips, watching him raptly. Feeling bold, he came close to his friend, not exactly pressing himself onto him but definitely much closer than necessary. Close enough to feel his friend's body warmth radiate into him.

“How’re you doing?” John asked quietly. It was a good cover up, the silence. It meant John definitely had to whisper, which only aided in his intent on teasing Sherlock into a flustered mess. John felt his friend shiver beneath him as he felt John’s warm soft breath fan against his exposed neck.

“Oh. I- I’m fine. I mean. It’s going fine.” Sherlock cleared his throat pointedly, trying to hide his face under his hair again as John grinned behind him, secretly thrilled at having this effect on the taller boy. He still wasn’t sure where he stood with him, romantic-wise. But this definitely had to be a good sign. And if there was one thing John was good at, it was flirting.

“That’s great,” John murmured, creeping closer still until his chest was pressed against Sherlock’s back, moving as if he just meant to peer over his shoulder at whatever progress he was doing with the padlocks. “Looks like you’ve already opened most of them. Quite brilliant”. Sherlock was frozen solid against him, not tense just… shocked. John could almost feel the boy’s rattling breath as he tried to speak, but in wake of his failure, he settled with a single nod.

John decided to give to poor bloke a break, he didn’t want to overwhelm him… yet. After all, they still had all night ahead of them.

Without the dazzling heat of John against his back, Sherlock was able to reboot his brain and focus on the task before him. Just a few minutes later he had the gates open and his face was almost back to its natural pale colour. Almost. But, of course, John noticed.

“You alright? You seem… flushed,” he cocked his head and popped a seemingly concerned brow. He suspected Sherlock could see right through it.  _Good_.

“I’m fine. It’s. Hot… in here. That’s all.”

John smiled predatorily. “Right. Fall  _is_  known for its random night heat waves”.

Sherlock swallowed, mouth corners tipping into a smirk. “It is indeed, John. Maybe you should take your coat off? Wouldn’t want you getting heat stroke or anything”.

 _Fast learner eh? Wasn’t expecting that._ “Hah. I’ll definitely keep that in mind,” John winked. He could feel his own cheeks bloom with color but he wasn’t about to let Sherlock comment on it. “So… what should we explore first? Forbidden spells? Dark arts? Taboo magical practices and cults?”. The possibilities seemed endless.

“Whatever you like, John. I’ve seen most of this place. I guarantee it’s all very fascinating”.

“Lead the way!” John grinned.

…

They sat next to each other in the dark, pouring over book after book on subjects John hadn’t even thought to look for but Sherlock had pointed him to. They found books on several dangerous creatures John had never heard of, about beasts forbidden for even most of the magical world to be exposed to. They read about incredible spells and dark potions with unthinkable effects and unbelievably powerful ones thought to be potent enough to even delay death for several years. Overall, the night was shaping up to be quite a success.

But as much as John enjoyed learning about these crazy things, or exploring the long dark creepy halls of the restricted sections, with its screaming books and its whispering parchments, the best part of the night… the one feature of interest as his friends would say: was Sherlock. Sherlock with his hair gleaming in the moonlight streaming through the window. With his sparkling mischievous eyes and long pale fingers turning page after page and sending whiffs of his sweet scent across to John, who was losing concentration with every passing moment.

But then again, maybe the best part of the night had been reaching for books behind Sherlock, purposefully pushing his chest against him, or brushing their hips or arms or whatever limbs were closer together in an intimate caress. Everything in the darkness was heightened to the point where even a tiny shared look, stolen as they both lost their focus on the actual words on the papers and grew more focused on each other, felt loud and immense in the still unbroken quiet of the night.

But, now that he thought about it the absolute  _best_ part of the night… was when they sat next to each other, thighs touching, and Sherlock had suddenly flopped down and laid his head on John’s lap to “read more comfortably, John. Obviously”. And John had snorted and had given up on his book in favour of using his wand-free hand to course his fingers through Sherlock’s silky locks until the Beauxbatons dropped his book as well and closed his eyes. John woke him up a while after that when the light shining from the window became a light pale grey instead of the single white bloom of the moon.

“Sherlock,” he whispered, pulling very gently at his curls. 

“Mmm... no”.

“Come on. We really have to go. If we wait any longer, we might run into Mrs Norris or the librarian opening up”. Even as he said it though, he didn’t attempt to move his legs from under the warm solid weight of Sherlock’s head.

“Fine,” Sherlock huffed, as he opened his eyes and glared blearily as John. The look was completely ruined by the adorable sleepy quality to it, though, and all it rose from the Gryffindor was a fond laugh.

…

The last few weeks of the term flew by.

John took Sherlock to the room of requirement, which he found in his second year at Hogwarts when he’d been home sick (Sherlock’s house was home, right?) and had somehow found a room with a working TV and a collection of his favourite movies. How these items even worked was a mystery. Electricity and technology, in general, went haywire when in Hogwarts. It was something about there being too much magical energy. But within this room… everything worked. Well, it did glitch every few minutes, but it worked pretty well aside from that.  

So, John took Sherlock there to re-watch all the classic movies they’d seen as children, Sherlock had put up a token protest but had naturally sat down raptly to wait for John to pop in the movie, blanket in hand. John had draped his arm on the back of the soft and scene after scene, it had somehow crept closer to Sherlock until somehow halfway through the movie it rested comfortably against his neck. Sherlock had been a bright beet red colour for the rest of the movie, and the snarky deductions had halted to a suspicious stop.

 

It was now the very first day of winter break and Greg and Molly had both left to their respective homes that afternoon. John and Sherlock found themselves alone in an almost completely deserted castle.

It had been steadily snowing for the past couple of days, and the outside grounds were completely buried in fluffy white mounds which John absolutely wanted to throw himself into. So they both set out wearing their winter coats, scarves, hats and gloves. John snorted at how posh the Beauxbatons winter uniform was, with frilly fur that served more for decorative purposes than actual heat. Sherlock had rolled his eyes and stolen some of John’s woolly winter socks in retaliation.

The snow had stopped rushing down and was now slowly drifting onto the ground. John looked at his and Sherlock's surroundings, dazedly. It was pretty magical. The walked slowly around the frozen lake, in comfortable silence. The snowflakes wafted lazily around them, clinging to Sherlock’s hair and John’s eyelashes. The castle looked so far away from here and the air was so quiet it seemed that just for this moment it was just him and Sherlock.

The urge not to reach for Sherlock’s hand was becoming positively maddening. He clenched his fingers a couple of times, wondering how his friend would react if he just… If he JUST-

“I’ve got a brilliant idea,” Sherlock suddenly said, his voice a low rumble that perfectly contrasted and warmed the icy surroundings.

“Oh? Sounds promising,” John smiled at him over his scarf, his words slightly muffled and wafting a light mist into the chilly wind.

He was just on the way to put his hand back in his pocket, courage freezing over when Sherlock suddenly took him by the wrist and pulled him towards the ice-covered lake. “Come along, John! Do you think the ice is thick enough to support our weight?” Sherlock wondered aloud.

“Oh! Um... I don’t know? Are you planning on having us walk on it or something?” he was far too focused on the pressure of Sherlock’s gloved fingers around his wrist to really put much thought into anything else, let alone the thickness of the ice.

“Not walk, John! Don’t be ridiculous”. They finally reached the edge of the ice, where Sherlock regretfully let go of John’s wrist and inspected the lake’s surface for a second before seemingly deeming it worthy. “We’re going to ice skate, obviously” he turned to look at John, a huge grin lighting up his face.

John grinned back. “That sounds great! But- we don’t have any skates.”

“We’re wizards, John. We can surely figure this out.” Sherlock pressed his palms together and rested his chin on the tops of his fingers as if in prayer, though John recognised his thinking pose. He’d had the habit of posing like that since he was a very small child, after all. “OH!” Sherlock jumped up excitedly, his mouth shaped like an O John wanted to kiss IMMEDIATELY. Needed to, actually. He swayed very slightly forward towards where his friend stood, enchanted by the excited Beauxbatons and his snow-rosy cheeks and wide eyes, sparkling with a brand new idea.

 Sherlock, oblivious to John’s internal struggle proceeded to flop down onto the snow and turned his foot as much as he could and pointed his want to it. “Aguamenti,” he commanded, and a rush of water squirted from the tip of his wand. “Glacius!” he exclaimed, a few seconds later. The result was the sole of his shoe was coated in a layer of solid, semi-transparent ice. Sherlock grinned triumphantly. “This should be enough… seems to be thick enough”.

John swallowed at hearing Sherlock say ‘thick’ so slowly.  _Control yourself, Watson. It’s just a word. It shouldn’t matter that he rumbles over it so it slowly melts like bloody dark chocolate_.

Sherlock repeated the procedure onto his other shoe and stood up carefully, branching out his arms to balance himself and waddled over to the icy ground of the lake.

John’s brain suddenly kicked back in in full force. “WAIT! Sherlock! Are you sure it’s safe?!”

“Quite, John. Look at the colour of the ice. If it was thinner, you would be able to see the water below. But it’s all white.” He went off talking about other pigments he could see on the ice as John hesitatingly repeated the process Sherlock had done on his own shoes and joined him, with a wobbly tiptoe.

“Oh, bloody hell!” John cried, his voice quivering as he tried to keep steady whilst his feet skidded around on the ice. Sherlock watched amusedly and skated gracefully towards him. “Quite tricky to keep balance without proper stakes, I know. But I’m sure you’ll manage,” he sniffed and skated off into the centre of the lake, easy footwork as his long legs drifted smoothly around.

“You and your damn stork legs,” John muttered under his breath whilst trying to keep himself upright, figuring that actual skating was second priority to NOT falling over. But that approach wasn’t working all that well if he was being honest with himself.

 

Eventually, John got his balance back and he tentatively skated over to Sherlock, who was already spinning around and doing small elaborate jumps. “Show off!” John teased. “Where’d you learn that anyway?”

“Beauxbatons has plenty of small ponds that freeze over during winter. When my father still lived with us, I usually stayed over the winter in the academy. Taught myself to skate. It’s not hard. Just some simple mathematical equations and physics. I can teach you if you like”.

John was so glad for the cold weather for a moment, as it masked his full body shiver when Sherlock reached for both of his hands and began to skate backwards, pulling John with him. “That’s pretty good, one foot after another, but bend your knees a little bit to balance the weight. Since we don’t have normal skates you have to keep your feet perfectly flat when you bear down, or they’ll wobble.” He turned, John following hips tilting as he bent his body to follow Sherlock’s swerving movements.

Sherlock kept his eyes steadily fixed on the ground as to avoid looking directly at John. When he had offered to teach John to skate he really hadn’t thought it all the way through. Now he could feel John’s body heat through his gloves. He could feel his breaths drifting towards him as the misty words they exchanged intermingled in the air between them. Sherlock could feel John’s eyes on his face, but he just couldn’t look back at him. He couldn’t do it without giving it away. Without accidentally showing John that he was pretty sure he had fallen completely head over heels in love with him.

He couldn’t meet his eye without  _somehow_  letting him see how these past few weeks… had been so nerve-rackingly incredible. And if he let himself dream and hope he could almost fool himself into believing that John did it all on purpose. The lingering looks beneath lowered eyelids, the accidental brushes of hands, the teasing…  _OH,_  the teasing. It almost seemed like- like John wanted this. Wanted  _Sherlock_ just as much as Sherlock wanted him. But that was impossible… wasn’t it?

The silence stretched over them as the skated together, bodies drifting closer in search for each other’s bodily warmth. Sherlock finally risked up a look at John and his heart instantly tried to pump its way out of his chest. John looked so ridiculously beautiful… so handsome. His cheeks were winter-rosy, the hair peeking out of his red Gryffindor beanie freckled with snowflakes, his gorgeous jaw just visible over his scarf and his eyes… his eyes were so blue in contrast to the winter wonderland around them, so wide and sparkling and hopeful. The silence grew charged as they kept staring into each other's eyes, neither looking away like they had every instance during the past few weeks.

John’s eyes fluttered over Sherlock’s slowly flushing face, keeping everything to memory before he quickly, almost imperceptibly, flickered his gaze to Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock’s heart stopped and his feet stopped skating abruptly as his knees shook.

The unanticipated movement caused John’s foot to get caught in a small crack on the ice and his foot twisted slightly, he wavered dangerously. “Oh!”

Sherlock tried his best to haul him up but his sudden stop had also made him lose focus and disrupted his balance. “Shitshitshit!”. He toppled towards John uncontrollably and watched in slow motion as his friend’s eyes widened in shock as they both slid forcefully on the ice and tumbled in a pile of limbs onto the icy hard ground.

“OW! UGH!” Sherlock had attempted to turn them over so John wouldn’t hit his head with the fall but the result had been falling sideways where he slammed the side of his own face against the ice. He was fairly certain John was alright, though, judging by the grunt of pain instead of a cry.

“Sherlock! Oh shit! Are you okay?!” John sat up, rubbing his hip and wincing but looking at Sherlock with concern.   


“Yeah. I’m okay”, the Beauxbatons muttered, eyes squeezed shut as he raised a hand to feel where he’s hurt his cheekbone. It was wet.

“Bloody hell. Shit. Let me see that. Hang on”. John reached into his back pocket for his wand, did a series of complex movements with it towards his feet and melted the ice and the ends of it with a rush of hot air. He did the same for Sherlock’s and helped them both off the icy lake and into the snowy ground where he sat Sherlock down to look over his wound. He peeled Sherlock’s hand away from his own cheek and took a clean tissue from his pocket to clean the blood. It wasn’t a lot of blood, which was good. And the bruising was also minimal.

“Looks alright. Just a small cut and some bruising… when we get back we should probably disinfect it and put some ice on it, though.”

“I think it’s had enough ice, John. Ta very much,” Sherlock muttered.

John snorted and poked him teasingly in the ribs. Sherlock immediately bent over in what John first mistook as pain but then when he took a closer look at Sherlock’s embarrassed face saw it for what it was. “Oh my god… Are you- Sherlock. Are you ticklish?”

“No!” Sherlock answered too fast.

John narrowed his eyes and poked his ribs again, and Sherlock snickered uncontrollably.

“I knew it!” John cried joyously and proceeded to tickle Sherlock on the ribs as best as he could with his glove-covered hands.  Sherlock squirmed and squirmed under him, squealing with a higher pitched laugh than John thought Sherlock could have. He tried to bat John away between giggles but to no avail. John tore off his gloves and just poked and prodded at Sherlock’s sides and armpits and neck.

“Hahaha! John! Hahahaha! Stopstopstop!”

“Never!” John snickered, dodging Sherlock’s attempts to tickle him back. He leant closer and closer to Sherlock’s space until somehow he was half on top of him and their combined weight was too much for their balance. For the second time that evening Sherlock suddenly went “OH!” as the snow behind him crumbled under them and he fell backwards into a pile of snow, pulling John with him. John fell with a soft oomph onto Sherlock’s chest.

A couple of seconds passed by until they looked at each other and kick-started their laughter once more. John head softly fell to Sherlock’s shoulder, cushioned by the soft blue scarf, and giggled against his neck. He could feel Sherlock’s laughter vibrating on his chest as it pressed against him. Instinctively, John’s hand raised to Sherlock's hip, meaning to push himself up and away. John had just meant to comment on the cold snow that was most likely sneaking up Sherlock’s back as he raised up his body to Sherlock’s when he suddenly realised the position they had found themselves in.

The laughter stopped as suddenly as it began as they stared at each other.

They were close. Much much closer than they recalled ever being.

Well, a faint memory did come to mind. One night in Sherlock’s room where they’d been so close… close and unsure as to what was going on until Sherlock’s father had come barging in. And now, five years later, they were back in that same moment, pressed together chest to chest. Except… except  _now_  Sherlock perfectly understood what he wanted from John. And John knew exactly what he felt for the Beauxbatons.

Sherlock felt Johns eyes boring into his, recreating their small moment on the icy lake. And once again… right on cue John’s gaze slowly drifted down until it stuck to Sherlock’s rosy lips. The latter licked them instinctively, relishing in the slight gasp that rushed out from John’s parted mouth. Sherlock’s own gaze was drawn down then, unable to stop the slight tilt of his head as watched John’s tongue trace his lower lip tantalisingly slowly. He looked back up at the blond’s eyes, silently asking… letting himself hope for just a moment. His heart thudded faster than he thought possible, his throat closed up with a rush of nerves and emotion. And want. So much want.

“Sherlock,” John whispered. He leant in closer, close enough to feel Sherlock’s warm soft breaths mingle with his own. Their noses were inches apart now, almost touching as the hand John had against Sherlock’s chest rose up to cup his friend’s neck. “I-” he breathed. “I… Sher-”

He didn’t finish his sentence. Just that second, Sherlock took all the courage he had and closed the breath of distance between them, his eyes slipping closed instinctively as he felt his lips collide gently with John’s. For a millisecond John stilled in surprise, but then without hesitation, he wrapped the arm around Sherlock’s hip tightly around his waist and pushed his other hand into Sherlock’s curls.

Sherlock immediately melted in John’s arms.

Their lips moved tenderly against each other, quietly assuring each other that  _yes_. This is what they wanted… what they wanted all along with each other.

John tilted his head further, perfecting the lock of their lips as he gently kissed those plush pink lips over and over and over again, just as he’d been dreaming of doing for months and months. Sherlock groaned softly into John’s mouth as the latter pulled his lower lip between his lips and sucked softly, dragging it tenderly with his teeth in a way that Sherlock swore could make him combust with that alone. Who knew kissing could feel like this? If Sherlock had known earlier… well, he probably would’ve kissed John a lot sooner. John was gentle, but possessive. Sweet, but dominating. He pushed himself into Sherlock’s space and absolutely  _took_ , pulling the Beauxbatons snugly against his own body.

The Gryffindor tasted of tea and warmth and home, and Sherlock wanted to chase the taste, drown in it and feel it consume him. He opened his mouth with a gasp as John pulled teasingly on his curls and John took the invitation willingly, sweeping in a warm, curious tongue and grazing it gently against Sherlock’s with a soft moan of his own. It was perfect. John was perfect.

Not that John was complaining either. Sherlock was soft and pliant under him, pulling him in with both hands bunched to the front of his winter jacket, as if unwilling to even consider letting him go for a second. He was enthusiastic, kissing John with all he had. He was clearly inexperienced but made it up with sweetness and eagerness, and it was bloody brilliant. John slowly showed him how to tilt his jaw and soothed his ragged desperate breaths with gentle tugs to his silky curls until it was just soft moans and quiet brushes of lips unwilling to separate. Breathing was, unfortunately, still an essential factor to live, and so they had to pull away eventually. They separated panting and keeping their eyes shut, fearing this was all a dream and wanting to stay asleep within each other’s embrace forever.

“John,” Sherlock breathed, one of the hands clutching at John’s jacket loosened and came up to cup John’s face. He opened his eyes and looked at his friend, his best friend whom he had just  _kissed_. He had kissed John Watson. John… whose cheeks were tinted pink, and his lips were kissed-red, swollen and wet. Wet from kissing  _Sherlock_. He looked completely blissed out of his mind.

Slowly, John’s eyes blinked open and they gazed at each together again, affection naked and open for each other to see. John beamed up at him, fondness pouring out of his deep blue eyes.

“Hi, you,” he whispered. And quickly leant in to place another soft kiss on Sherlock’s parted, equally kissed-red and wet lips. “Was this… okay?”

“Okay?” Sherlock asked softly. “It was perfect. I’ve been wanting this for so long… wanting you for so long”.

“Me too… oh god me too”. They kissed again, slow and unrushed as if they had all the time in the world to just hold each other and kiss.

“John... there are things- things I need to tell you.” Kiss. “Things I’ve kept from you”. Kiss. “I was afraid”. Kiss.

John shushed him gently with a longer graze of their lips, capturing Sherlock’s sweet mouth and working it gently with his own until Sherlock was soothed once more.

“Shh… it’s okay Sherlock. There are things we need to talk about, definitely. But I’m sure we’ll figure everything out. It’s in the past. And this. This what’s happening between us? It’s our now”. John laid a peck on Sherlock’s cheek softly. “But not here,” he breathed. “Your back must be completely wet and freezing. And I’m not having you catch a cold. Come on,” he rose with difficulty, peeling himself away from Sherlock, who clung onto him, reluctant to let him stand up. But John insisted.

He held out his hand, bare against Sherlock’s glove, which Sherlock found unacceptable. So Sherlock took off his glove hastily and took John’s hand in his own, lacing their fingers together and hoisted himself up. John looked at their joined hands, a small pleased smile tugging at his lips.

“Let’s head up to my common room, shall we?” John murmured, laying another kiss on Sherlock’s cooling cheek and another on the tiny bit of skin visible on his neck above Sherlock’s scarf. “I’m not even half done with you” he whispered. Sherlock shivered with pleasure, heart hammering and stomach filled with elated butterflies… and followed John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AT LAST. FINALLY! IT ONLY TOOK THEM 40K BLOODY WORDS. THIS WHOLE STORY WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONE-SHOT, DAMMIT.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend I didn't take a full month to update again ok?  
> I'll live up to the E rating soon I swear!

The Gryffindor common room was drenched in golden light as the fire’s embers slowly dimmed. The warm air against their freezing wet skin was a definite relief and John couldn’t stop the sigh of pleasure that escaped his lips. Sherlock echoed it behind him. Their fingers were still interlaced with each other, and John couldn’t stop the little jumps his stomach made every time he thought about it or focused on the heat between their pressed palms.

He led them close to the fire where, regrettably, they had to let go of each other’s hands as they divested their soaked coats, gloves, heavy winter boots and scarves. Since they basically had the common room to themselves (no other Gryffindor had stayed behind for the winter break) they just dropped their sodden garments on the floor.

John turned to Sherlock, who was fidgeting in his spot, unsure. John smiled. “Come over here, you”. He reached for him, wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing them together again chest to chest before he leaned in. He nudged at Sherlock’s face with his own and followed the warm damp breaths from his lips, and chased them with his lips.

Sherlock hummed into the kiss, relief palpable as his body relaxed and sank into John’s embrace. “John,” he breathed, in between wet kisses to the Gryffindor’s mouth, “I- we.. we should probably talk”.

“Mmhmm,” John agreed against his friend’s lips but made absolutely no move to let him go. He just held on a little tighter, and kissed him a few more times, as if he simply couldn’t get enough. “Talking. Yes” he breathed, before diving back in and nibbling on Sherlock’s lower lip.

“I- ah… yes. Talking. In… in a minute” Sherlock sighed back, pushing his chest onto John’s and tipping his head further to dip his tongue into John’s sweet  _sweet_ mouth. There. Perfect. He tried his best to replicate John’s movements with his lips until he got the hang of them and tried a few of his own, obtaining a few gorgeous sighs and moans from John’s chest.

After long moments they finally found themselves panting into each other’s mouth more than actually kissing. They separated long enough to sink into one of the largest and squishiest arm chairs in front of the fire where they fit quite comfortably, pressed together but more out of desire to be as close as possible than lack of room. “John,” Sherlock sighed, eyes closed and both hands cupping John beautiful face. Their foreheads were pressed together as they felt each other breathe. “There’s something I should say. I meant to say all these weeks and I never have…”

John raised his gaze to look at Sherlock, who still had his eyes tightly shut. “Sherlock,” John murmured softly, he gently raised to fingers to Sherlock’s chin, tipping it up so he would face him. “ You can talk to me…”

Sherlock shook his head slightly, the words caught in his throat.

“Is this.. is this about my letters?” John prompted as gently as he could. This was important. John didn’t want to scare Sherlock away but this was a conversation they had pushed back too long. One of many conversations, clearly. John didn't want to ruin what was happening between them, but he knew that they could never move forwards and past it if they weren’t honest with each other.

Sherlock nodded and took a deep breath before opening his eyes. “You mustn't think it was because I didn’t want to, John. Please believe me… because not speaking to you- not having you around for all those years was the single most terrible thing that I have ever had to go through. You were and are.. my best friend. My _only_ true friend.”

John nodded, encouragingly. He didn’t want to interrupt Sherlock. Clearly, this was taking a lot of effort for him to finally say.

“At first.. when you left. I was angry at you. Irrationally, of course. Because you got to live my dream and I did not. A dream that _I_ had introduced you to. I felt robbed. Unreasonably betrayed. During my family's move to France my father gave away most of our things, my owl included. The only one that remained was the house owl, whom I was not allowed to use”. Sherlock swallowed, and sat up straighter, their thighs were still touching as they looked at each other, but there was no other point of contact.

“I was only angry for a few days. But by then I noticed… I hadn’t received any letters from you. Nothing. I never saw Gladstone and I never heard anything. I waited and waited… thinking perhaps you had fallen ill and were unable to write, but.” Sherlock breath shook. “No letters ever came from you. And just like that it was my worst nightmare come to life. I assumed you had met new people at Hogwarts, better and more interesting people who made you forget all about me. Finally, I went to Beauxbatons Academy and the silence persisted. I found that my peers didn’t… respond well to me. Nor the teachers. I thought about asking someone for their owl so I could reach out to you. I didn’t care if you'd found better friends. If you didn’t care about me anymore. I just- I wanted you back. I wanted my only friend back. Of course, I found no one who was willing to help me out and I admit I was afraid you didn’t even want to hear from me.”

John bit his lip to keep from interrupting his story. But he placed a firm hand on Sherlock’s thigh and gave a reassuring squeeze to go on. The urge to take him in his arms consuming him whole.

“By the time summer came, it had been almost a whole year since I had heard from you and I was… heart broken, to say the least. That is how three whole years passed. But one day. One night, actually. I heard a commotion downstairs. It sounded like some sort of screech, like a wounded owl. I crept downstairs and saw Gladstone flying out of a window chased by my father. He held a letter in which I recognized your hand writing. I confronted him and he admitted to taking your letters and burning them. He admitted to even intercepting mail that I received in Beauxbatons so you couldn’t reach me there either. I tried to duel him that night but… I lost. I was almost expelled from school for performing magic outside of school and he threatened to hurt my mother if I contacted you. So I didn’t… and that’s how it went until he left us a year later”.

John was blinking back tears, his grip on Sherlock’s thigh firm, supporting himself from crumbling down. “That bloody asshole… I can't believe he would do that…. Why?”  
“He knew how I felt about you. Ever since that night five years ago when he walked into my room and saw you holding me. You were about to kiss me…. Weren’t you?”

John nodded slowly, “I think so… back then I didn’t even know what I wanted. I didn’t know what it even MEANT to want but. I just wanted to be close to you. It was like a pull”.

Sherlock smiled sadly. “I felt it too. I’m afraid my father was ashamed to have a “fag” as he would constantly call me, as a son.”

John clenched and unclenched his free hand, barely containing his anger. He remembered that scum of a man vividly. The way he treated Sherlock. And the way he treated his mother. It was absolutely despicable. He remembered seeing him corner her in their kitchen and yell abuse at her, how the only thing that stopped him was the explosion of the small flower pot John had accidentally detonated in his anger. For a moment now, John wished that the exploding pot had been Sherringford. He exhaled shakily, trying to calm himself down. “None of this is your fault, Sherlock. None of it” he leaned closer to the Beauxbatons, who was looking down at his folded hands with a pained look. John swallowed down with difficulty, his throat dry. “After he left… that was about a year ago right? After that… why didn’t you write then? I would’ve come to you, Sherlock. I would’ve done anything.”

Sherlock looked up at him, sadly. “I wanted to… But your letter’s had stopped and I was afraid that.. that you really HAD forgotten about me”.

John cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and once again touched his forehead to Sherlock’s. The taller boy was trembling under his fingertips, silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he felt waves of past pain that still stung low in the core of his heart. Burning memories of the lonely years without anyone that understood him, or even bothered trying to. They both had their eyes tightly shut, the only sense surrounding them both was the overwhelming feeling of being in each other's arms at last.

“Oh, Sherlock… how could I possibly forget you?” he whispered, brokenly. “I stopped writing because I thought you’d forgotten about _me_. I thought you were angry with me.  How could you not know... ever since we were children… I’ve never wanted anyone but you. It's always been you. _Only_ you”.

He barely heard Sherlock’s sharp intake of breath before he blindingly closed the distance between them and pressed his lips against Sherlock’s and they were kissing fiercely. John’s heart was bursting. He didn’t know how to feel. On one hand, he felt furious for the way Sherrinford had continued to treat his family all those years, it was _his_ fault that Sherlock was so insecure about himself and it was _his_ fault that they had lost contact and their friendship. Not to mention that he was back in their family now. He couldn't believe that Sherlock’s mother had taken him back after everything that he had done, because of how ingrained that asshole had implanted himself and his selfish ideas on that poor family.

But aside from all that… John was also immensely relieved. Relieved that Sherlock was now here with him, safe in his arms. That they had finally spoken about all these things that should've been said so long ago. That Sherlock had not forgotten about him or abandoned him, that he no longer thought John had done those same things to him. He kissed Sherlock softly, tenderly, relishing on finally...  _finally_ being able to hold the one person that mattered most to him in all this world and know that they were finally where they were supposed to be all along. In each other’s lives. In each other’s hearts. In each other’s arms.

Not breaking their kiss, they arranged themselves on the couch so that Sherlock was basically draped over John, his legs swung over the Gryffindor’s knees. John held Sherlock tightly in his arms, caressing his back with soft strokes and cupping his neck tenderly.

After a while, he pulled Sherlock close to his chest, as they both calmed and listening to each other breathe as they watched the fire crackle soothingly in the fire place.

……

The next morning, Sherlock walked into the Great Hall precisely two minutes before John always did. This was because, according to his analyses and calculations, they were now in a relationship.

Well. He hoped they were, anyway.

They had spent no less than two hours last night talking and laughing and kissing. And _oh_ the kissing. Sherlock made his way blindly to his usual spot at the Gryffindor table, lost in his thoughts about last night. After he left the Gryffindor common room last night he had spent every minute before he dozed off transferring all the data from that night into his mind palace. John’s warm touch. His fingers that had been hesitant at first but had quickly become hungry and wanting. Looking back now, everything they did was quite tame. Nothing more than an innocent snog on the couch. But last night, Sherlock had felt like he was on fire. Like John had set a burning flame of desire in him. He didn’t recall ever feeling like this. Like he could physically combust at any moment just by John’s warm touch.

Sherlock was too busy lost in the memory of their last kiss, right at the edge of the Gryffindor’s common room door (with the Fat lady softly snoring behind them), to notice John plop down beside him at the Great Hall table.

“Oh!”

“Hey you!” John turned to Sherlock and laid a sloppy wet kiss on the side of the rapidly blushing Beauxbaton’s neck.

“H-hey!” Sherlock stumbled out. He stared at John in shock for a couple of seconds, blinking silently until John’s happy grin started to waiver.

“Was that- okay?”

Sherlock nodded furiously, still unable to tear out the words from his throat but very decisively trying to reassure John that that was VERY much okay.

John’s grin returned in full force. “Good.”

They ate breakfast side by side, thighs touching and trying very hard not to spill their pumpkin juice every time one of them snuck in a kiss to the others neck or cheek. Sherlock inevitably did end up spilling most of his tea on himself when John pulled him in for a proper snog, their first since yesterday and still a shock to the Beauxbaton’s system.

“Sorry! Sorry!” John babbled, trying to dry the front of the Beauxbatons uniform with a couple of spells, though his smug grin kind of ruined the effect.

“You’re not sorry at all” Sherlock chuckled before ducked to kiss John in return. They were the only ones in the Great Hall so neither of them felt judgmental or curious stares as they reexplored each other’s mouths and lips. Sherlock hummed against John’s lips, relishing on the feeling of the blonde’s hands sneaking up to cup his neck and stroke soothing circles with his thumbs.

“You like that?” John whispered, smiling against him

“Uh huh”

John chuckled under his breath. “Come on, let’s go enjoy our second day of winter break”

“But.. you've barely eaten anything”

“Not hungry,” John smiled “At least… not for food,” he winked. Sherlock blushed to the tips of his ears, basically tripping over himself in his hurry to get up and follow John as he walked towards the entrance of the Great Hall. Knowing John though, he took a couple of biscuits and scones from the table and stuffed them into his pockets, for later.

…

“I did NOT”

“Did too!” John laughed. “You had the biggest lisp ever!”

“That’s ridiculous. I’ve never mispronounced anything ever in my life. Especially my s’s.”

“Your etheth?” John lisped.

Sherlock nudged him, fighting off a grin “Shut up”.

John chuckled, tightening his hand around his friend’s waist. His friend? Is that what he should call him now? Even calling him that was rather strange since just a few days ago he had even doubted whether they were friends at all… but then again they hadn’t had the long talk they had yesterday. Now things were definitely different. And not just because now they kissed, and GOD did they kiss. It was different because Sherlock now looked at him without any walls. Without _anything_ between them but trust and fondness, just like when they were children. Of course, now their gazes held a lot more weight to them..a  lot more sentiment as Sherlock would say.

He turned to Sherlock, meaning to express some of these things and perhaps broach the subject on what they should refer to each other as when Sherlock suddenly stopped short and started jumping in excitement.

“JOHN! Zonkos! It’s no Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes but I’ve heard it’s quite brilliant! Come ON!” he was pulling John now, dragging was a more apt description. John followed promptly, grinning as Sherlock basically ripped off his arm in the process of taking them there as fast as humanly possible.

They entered the shop and were immediately relieved by the lack of icy wind and falling snow, as it was replaced by lovely warm air and the smell of several types of explosive joke artifacts and funky looking potions in small glass vials.

“Oh! It’s even better than I imagined! I can’t believe we haven’t been here all year! Such a waste of time!”

John snickered “You're the one that never wanted to leave the library!”

“Actually… you’re right, John. I guess I did spend all that time exploring the vast collection of restricted books at Hogwarts.. not a waste of time at all!” he seemed reassured as he pranced about the shop ducking to see the (artifacts) on the lowest shelves and jumping to see the highest ones. John just watched him amusedly. He’d been here several times before since his third year, so he was content just to watch Sherlock explore the shop for the very first time. The way he bounced up and down and the little O his mouth made whenever he saw something that captured his interest was so reminiscent of his childhood self John couldn’t help but grin besottedly at the sight.

Though.. now that they had grown up and now that John was allowed to feel more than just platonic feelings towards his Beauxbatons friend…. He definitely could appreciate the view when Sherlock bent to look at some of the fake wands in the bottom shelf. He appreciated it even _more_  when he rose slowly, the back of his blue school robe all but sticking to the gentle curve of his arse.

“Are you ogling me, Watson?” Sherlock smirked, looking over his shoulder and directly at John, catching him in the act.

John felt his cheeks grow hot in slight embarrassment at being caught out but he could see Sherlock’s lovely blush spreading to so he just grinned. “Yup… told you I wasn’t just hungry for food” he winked.

Sherlock straightened up and looked down shyly, his smile still very evident. He walked right up to John and stopped just as their chests touched. “So... are you just going to stare at me? Or are you going to do something about it?”

“You want me to?” John murmured as he looked up at Sherlock under hooded eyes. He could see how flustered Sherlock was getting already, but seeing him become more confident was a huge turn on for him. He wanted Sherlock to know how much John wanted him. How gorgeous he really was.

Sherlock just hummed and ducked to kiss John, not bothering with pleasantries and dipping his tongue into John’s mouth delicately. John didn’t hesitate, he wrapped Sherlock up in his arms and opened his mouth for Sherlock’s gently explorations, lowering his hands to the small of Sherlock’s back and easing them ever so slowly down and down.

He was just getting to the tantalizing slope of Sherlock’s arse when there was a very loud clearing of a throat behind them. “Ehem!”

They both separated with a soft wet sound and whipped their heads around towards the source of the voice.

“Boys. As much as I’d love to let you snog and grope, you’re kind of blocking the hallway? Are either of you planning on buying anything? Because if not…”

“No, right sorry.. sorry. Yes. I’ll uh- I'll take this please.” John stuttered out, quickly letting go of Sherlock as the latter did the same and he reached for the first thing his eye caught, which happened to be a dungbomb.

“Me too. I’ll take uh- this.” Sherlock reached for a ‘peruvian instant darkness powder’ and handed it to the girl as she approached the counter, eyeing them both suspiciously as if they would suddenly just grab each other and start groping again. John didn’t blame her. It was what he really wanted to do, anyway.

 They paid for their items before exiting the shop, both red in the face and keeping their contact to only hand holding as they walked out and into the snowy streets. Immediately John started snickering.

“What’s so funny?” Sherlock asked curiously.  

“You. Me. Just.. us. Guess we have to learn to keep our hands to each other in public huh? It’s just so new to me that I can… that I can actually hold you. Touch you. Guess I can't help myself now that I have permission” John said, tightening his hold on Sherlock’s hand.

This seemed to please the Beauxbatons as he returned to squeeze with his own fingers. “Yeah... I guess it’s still pretty new and… exciting”. He ducked his head again, shyly looking at his feet insistently.

John simply adored him.

Reaching for his hand John led them away from Zonko’s joke shop and off the main road and towards a place he hadn’t been in quite a while.

“Where are we going?”

“Off of high street. It’s some place nice. Trust me”

“Okay...” Sherlock said dubiously. “But why?”  
“Well.. because it’s our first official date. And I want to make it special” John beamed.

Sherlock just breathed a small ‘Oh’ sound and held tightly to John's hand as he led them through the cobbled street and there in the distance Sherlock saw it: ‘Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop’. It was a charming little place, decorated to the brink with flowers and plants that must have had some sort of anti-freeze charm, as they seemed like they belonged in the midst of a spring day rather than a chilly winter morning. The snow flakes slid right off the petals and onto the pebbled ground. Sherlock thought it looked absolutely charming.

Sure, the windows framed were painted a bright forget-me-not pink, and as soon as they opened the door there sure was a lot of lace and flowery prints everywhere. But this was a date. John Watson was taking HIM out on a date. And so. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

“Welcome welcome!” a shrill high voice greeted them in. It didn’t take the slightest amount of deductive work to see this was Madame Pudifoot. She seemed all-to-happy to have customers, as there were hardly any other in the shop aside from two pairs of couples at the very back of the room. “What’ll you have dearies? Some tea, or cakes, perhaps? Hmm?”

John was immediately invested in looking at all the cake options, whilst Sherlock just pointed to the one with the least amount of gum-paste flowers and icing. After they ordered their tea and cakes, Madame Pudifoot led them to a table next to the slightly iced windows. It was a very private and intimate setting and they’re both sat nervously across from each other, suddenly finding themselves in the middle of what was quite obviously an official date. Now there was no room for doubt. And after a small quiet pause, John just smiled and reached back for Sherlock’s hand to tuck it under his in warm reassurance Sherlock was quite grateful for.

“Hi”.

Sherlock snorted “Hi, John”.

“You alright?”

“Yes. Are we done with small talk now?”  
John laughed “Yeah. So… how’re you doing? No no don’t look at me like that… I mean it. Did you answer your mother’s letter?”

Sherlock sighed but was comforted by John’s soothing fingertips stroking over his knuckles. “I haven’t answered yet… I’m just not sure what to do. I can’t accept my father back into our lives, no matter how much he apologizes. I just can’t. But the last thing I want to do is alienate my mother. Not after everything she’s been through. I… I don’t know”

John nodded, lacing his finger’s through the Beauxbatons. “Is there nothing we can do? Or Mycroft perhaps? Maybe we could talk to her”

Sherlock shook his head “I don’t think so…”  
John’s lips tightened “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to upset you. We’ll figure this out. I don’t want you to lose your mother over this… I know how important she is to you. But Sherlock. I won't let him get away with this. I don’t know how... but we WILL get your mother away from that man.”

Momentarily storing away the gorgeous memory of John calling him ‘love’, Sherlock smiled. This boy.. this man… cared so much about him. And Sherlock knew the chances of getting his father away from his family and finally get rid of him for good were slim but somehow- he believed John. He beamed at this impossible boy in front of him and knew he trusted him… he trusted him when he said everything would be okay.

“Thank you, John… I don’t know what will happen. But I trust you. I just hope he doesn’t find out I’m here with you. Or that he finds out we’re… uh… you know”

John chuckled “We’re 'uh y’know'?”

“Yeah…er- You know..” his face was flaming hot by this point,

John smiled “I do know…”

Sherlock looked up at him, his eyes wide and hopeful, he said nothing, expecting John to say it for them. To confirm this nagging question in his head and make all of this real.

“We..” John started, grinning shyly and looking down at their joined hands in the center of the table. “We’re… together right? Like… Boyfriends?”

Sherlock’s heart performed some sort of somersault in his chest and his stomach flipped in agreement as he beamed to his… his _boyfriend._  “Yeah” he whispered, his voice struggling to climb out of his throat as it clogged with too many emotions. “We- yeah…  we're boyfriends”.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO CHEESY YOU GUYS IM SORRY! But they just WANT to be cheesy and who am I to deny them??

**Author's Note:**

> Also if you're so inclined my tumblr is iamsupernova12.tumblr.com, come say hi :)!<3 Thanks for reading, commenting and leaving kudos!! <3<3<3


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